Brother Wolf
by kydasam
Summary: PRESLASH VHC Van Helsing and Carl set out to capture a werewolf that is being shown by a circus. Along the way they must deal with other hunters, the circus owner's own dark purposes, and the wolf's brutal attack upon Carl. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new story

Notes:

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsings time (which I feel are

merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness,

deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF-1**

**12:00 Midnight**

It felt odd to Van Helsing to be sitting in the small dark room, to be sitting on a cold bed, on top of taut cold blankets that made his palms itch when he pressed them down flat over the harsh nubby fabric. The furniture of this room that he called 'home', for want of a better word, for the last four years was almost new in a shabby, handed-down fashion. He was here, in this room, so seldom that his living here had very little chance to make an impact. No scuffs, no finger prints or creaking hinges, no clutter spread about to announce his likes and dislikes, his current passions and fading interests. It was just an empty room that, for want of a better word, he called home.

From the window, the light of the blue moon trickled like water over the wood and covered everything in an other-worldly radiance, making it a little less real. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the Vatican Guard changing, the muted clank and rattle of their time-honored and largely useless protocol made him frown and raise a dark eyebrow. He wondered if they cared much for the pomp and circumstance of their actions or was it done by rote; each studied movement was made with the least amount of effort and in the fastest time so that tired men could get to bed and the new men could settle down to finish their own duty as soon as possible. He listened, carefully, but he never heard them speak to one another. No laughter, no whispering, no shared hoarse jests between men whose lives were similar and who should have had something, surely, to say to one another. Nothing. Just rattle and clank. Was he any different? What tied him to this place and these people?

Van Helsing sighed as he looked about his room again. It was late. He should be getting undressed but he couldn't seem to work up any energy for the task. He'd come back from a mission in the first hour of the new day and had come straight to this chamber. He had wounds to tend to, he supposed he should have gone to the infirmary to have them looked at but the idea of a midnight bout with the physicians and their enforced intimacies was less appealing than usual. Besides, he'd been looking after himself for weeks without their clucking disapproving probings and mutterings. No one was going to raise a fuss if he skipped over the usual protocols for returning hunters for one night. Tomorrow was soon enough.

With a grunted exhalation of air, Van Helsing allowed himself to fall back onto the bed, grimacing as sore stiff muscles added their jabs and lances to the pains clamoring for attention. He decided to let them clamor; he was too tired to stay awake any longer. Later, he would go to the physicians and submit to their ministering. Then he would go to the labs to see Carl. A smile he was unaware of pulled at the corners of his mouth at the thought of the friar. Carl was the one constant in his life, the one never-ending source of humanity in the rattle and clank of his routine. It felt odd to admit that perhaps he did indeed have something to come back to after all.

In the blue light, lying on top of the blankets, still dressed, Van Helsing sighed as he admitted ruefully to himself that it was good to be home.

* * *

**5:30 a.m.**

Not for the first time, Carl reflected that it was the ideal time of day. That moment when the moon was just dipping down to touch one horizon and gild it a deep perfect blue while at the other horizon the sun bronzed the sky with an artist's pallet of pure color. Working late at night (or early morning, depending on your particular preference for such things) was always an interesting dichotomy of good and evil. On the one hand, the labs had a lovely uncomplicated silence to them that made total concentration--so elusive during normal business hours--almost effortless. It was almost sybaritic to have the peace necessary to totally immerse oneself in the satisfying intricacies of bending physics and probability to one's will. Every time he did it, Carl felt a shiver of appreciation for God's miracles (among which he did not hesitate to count his own intellect). On the reverse side of that perfect pleasure was the fact that Carl was not a morning person. In fact, it would not be going too far to say that he reviled it. The only way that he could look at the lightening sky with any kind of equanimity was to see it as the end of a good day's work rather than to face the fact that he was actually up at the crack of dawn and the start of a new day.

It helped that he was alone in the labs, seclusion allowed him to create his own reality as he saw fit. It worked, he was happy with it.

Coming hard upon his ruminations, the tread of large heavy feet on the stone steps leading down into the labs seemed like the punchline to a particularly bad joke. The fact that it heralded the loss of his peaceful isolation appeared as a grievous trespass to him and Carl had to quash an urge to resent the unseen interlopers. Instead, he bent closer over his table, attempting to ignore the newcomers by re-immersing himself in his work. He had been successful at this before, it just took complete concentration for a few minutes and...

"Carl! You're still at it?"

The blond friar closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh as he gently released the tools he held in a death grip. He heard the crunch of footsteps approaching and resignedly straightened, easing his magnifying lenses up from his eyes as he lifted his gaze to his fellow inventors as they filed into the lab and to adjacent stations. Brothers Johan and Sebastion were early risers. Their natures were diametrically opposed to Carl's in almost every way. They enjoyed talking, even when working. They enjoyed hearty breakfasts, good solid reading, and frowned on sins of the flesh. It had occurred to Carl, more than once, to point out that both men were well padded and some might view their deep appreciation of the dining table as tending toward one of those sins of the flesh they were so dead set against. No doubt such a discussion would gain him little except the good brothers' sniffy disdain and repeated instructional lectures on the errors of his viewpoint.

More footsteps announced newcomers to their little group and Carl sighed with real regret. It appeared that his perfect moment of silent bliss was now irretrievably over. The owners of the footsteps, however, turned out to be a pleasant surprise for Carl, at least in part. The first to appear was the master forge smith who Carl had always viewed as a misplaced addition to the lab. Why not have him set up shop outside...by the stables, where his talents could be put to better use shoeing horses? Certainly the space he occupied could be used more intelligently--Carl himself, for instance, could always use more space. Behind the smith, though, Carl was pleased to see a welcome face. Van Helsing had apparently returned from his latest mission. The two men were talking earnestly and the smith was carrying two parts of a silver sword, which explained the topic of their conversation.

Carl leaned against his table, his arms crossed, as he watched the two men. Van Helsing had been away for some time on this mission, evidently it had been a difficult one. The hunter had managed to damage the almost indestructible silver sword that the master smith had spent a great deal of time making for him. Carl allowed to a certain small satisfaction in the fact that his work was not the only one that suffered from the hunter's destructive tendencies.

Additionally, Carl was surprised to see the hunter had one arm in a sling, a large raw-looking scrape graced the back of his free hand while deep bruises defaced most of the front of his throat in vividly violent colors. Judging by the careful manner in which Van Helsing moved he also had a large share of cuts, bruises and other assorted 'Ow'ies under his disheveled clothing. Carl shook his head and offered up a quiet prayer of thanks that his one and only trip as a fieldman was well behind him and not likely to be repeated. He liked and admired Van Helsing, more so now after his brief taste of the hunter's way of life in Transylvania, but he had no desire to repeat the experience. And, truth be told, it really made no sense to send him on such excursions when the Order, and the world in general, would be so much better served by his remaining firmly behind his lab table.

Besides, if they were looking for good solid canon fodder, there were always Brothers Johan and Sebastion...

Carl blinked, emerging from his satisfying ruminations to realize that Van Helsing had evidently escaped the master smith's clutches and was now on his way over. He didn't try to stop the knowing smile that curved his mouth or the raised censorious eyebrow as he watched the hunter's ginger approach.

"Ah, so you managed to get yourself back in one piece? Looks like you did it by the skin of your teeth this time."

"More or less," Van Helsing admitted as he flexed his abraded hand ruefully.

"What was it this time?" Carl leaned forward, rising up onto his tip toes to peer at the hunter's neck, tsking as he did so. "Are those hand prints?"

"Yes," the hunter admitted as he eased down onto a stool. "I was to check out rumors of a werewolf being shown by a traveling circus. It took some persuasion to get the circus owner to show me the thing. He had a seven-foot giant with a touchy temper that doubled as a bouncer."

"Owch," Carl winced and patted the hunter sympathetically. "Did you get the werewolf?"

Van Helsing sighed, one dark eyebrow rising in exasperation. "No. I'll need to go back. It escaped while I was fighting off a bareback rider and a pack of clowns with brass knuckles."

"Hmph. You might need to let this one go for a while, at least until that arms heals."

"It's not broken, just a bad sprain and I can't afford to wait," the hunter said, a grim note entering his tone. "The wolf got away in a section of woods on the outskirts of a small village. I can't take the chance that it could injure or possibly turn some of the townspeople."

"Ah, well I hate to be the one to point it out, Van Helsing, but you won't be of much use with one arm in a sling."

"I realize that, Carl. And I'm making provisions for some extra help on this case. In the meanwhile, do you have anything new for me?"

The friar's solicitous frown eased into a thoughtful look of consideration that Van Helsing recognized all too well. He sometimes wondered if the friar remembered he was flesh and blood and not just some sort of mechanical drudge to field test the latest weapons. Carl tended to create for the sake of creation, the actual practical application of his genius he left up to others to discover--case in point, the magma sphere that was meant to stop a charging herd of wildebeest. True, it had come in handy after all, but Van Helsing was still waiting for the wildebeest to put in an appearance.

"Well, now that I know what you're up against, I have been working on something you might like," the friar said with a lowered voice that thrumed with excitement as he plucked at the hunter's vest with eager fingers. "And it's just what you need for your mission!"

The hunter followed Carl to the end of his table where a wooden box sat. The box was battered and stained and Van Helsing raised an eyebrow at it.

"Not exactly up to your standards," he said, smiling as Carl rolled his eyes.

"It's not the _box_ I'm giving you. It's what's inside."

"Never would have guessed," Van Helsing murmured, mentally shaking his head. Carl was brilliant, but a trifle too focused at times.

The friar had lost interest in his friend though. He lifted the box and found himself holding his breath as he opened the lid carefully. Nestled within the battered container, on a bed of bunched cloth, reposed two metallic darts. They gleamed an oily rich black in the flickering lights and Carl lost himself in admiration as he contemplated them with satisfaction.

Van Helsing looked over the friar's shoulder. "Looks promising. What do they do?"

"You may be looking at a miracle." Almost reverently, Carl carefully set down the box, and then reached inside to lift out one dart to hold it up to Van Helsing. In the center of the dart was a small window where a ruby red solution sloshed thickly from side to side. "I started work on this when we came back from Transylvania. It's taken all this time to complete—now it's ready for testing."

"Transylvania? Carl, is that what I think it is?" Van Helsing reached out to touch the dart and felt his skin prickle at the feel of the cold metal.

"Probably. You said you had a werewolf—and I think I've got an antidote for lycanthropy. If it's successful, it could mean salvation for the poor souls afflicted with that horrible disease. Just think, no more killing werewolves—instead you'll liberate them. With this."

Carl dropped the syringe into the hunter's hand and stepped back, hugging himself as he watched Van Helsing lift the dart to peer at the shimmering fluid inside. He had made many weapons for the hunter over the years they had known one another, but he had never felt such pride in an accomplishment as he did now.

"This is amazing," Van Helsing breathed. "How sure are you that it will work?"

"Ah...well, reasonably," Carl temporized as he sucked one lip in meditatively while staring as though hypnotized at the dart the hunter held. "Of course, it's all theoretical so far, but it's based upon a sound principle. There might be some concern about _when_ the serum is used--I'm not referring to the original midnight deadline that we dealt with in Transylvania. That was imposed by Dracula. But an ordinary werewolf--if you run across one that has been a wolf for some time and has become truly evil...I don't suppose there'd be much point in using the serum only to be left with a cured but evil man."

Van Helsing raised one eyebrow at his friend, nodding. "That's a big 'if', Carl. I might be able to use this dart only once in a hundred cases."

Carl's permanently stooped stature abruptly increased to his full five foot seven inches as he tore his eyes from the dart to meet his friend's eyes squarely. As he spoke, his voice took on the reasonable, lecturing tone that let the hunter know, in the nicest way possible, that he was being unnecessarily dense. "Well, of course you might find a great many werewolves who wouldn't benefit from this antidote. But I have a theory that, outside of Dracula's influence, werewolves are no more inherently evil than normal wolves. They have a greater _opportunity_ for evil, for losing themselves within the wolf, but unless the man is evil, why should the wolf be at first? You're fully briefed before each mission, and you have the ability to sense evil--you'd be able to tell if the wolf you're hunting might benefit from the antidote long before you actually meet him. You've always hated having to kill the man in order to remove the monster from him--now you have a possible choice. Isn't it worth trying?"

Seeing the zealous light within Carl's eyes, Van Helsing weighed the friar's words against his propensity for creating brilliant devices whose practicality were invariably in question. Still, if Carl was correct... A memory came to the hunter of another monster who had been touched by evil but not consumed by it. He hoped the Frankenstein monster was safe and well, wherever he had eventually ended up. With that in mind, he nodded his agreement.

"Does Jinette know?"

"Yes...well, not exactly. He doesn't know how far I've gotten with it. I think he was just humoring me when he gave me permission to work on it. Now that it's a reality...hopefully a reality...well, there you are!" Shrugging his shoulders, Carl beamed at the hunter.

Van Helsing found himself grinning back as he settled the dart back into the box and then closed the lid. Picking up the box he handed it to Carl and then caught his shoulder, drawing the friar in for a hard one-armed hug that made the man squeak and then laugh.

"Come on then," the hunter said as he drew back, "Let's go share the news that you're brilliant!"

Carl's smile grew as he allowed himself to be pulled along. "Well, there's no point in that. He already knows it. But I am looking forward to telling him about the serum."

The hunter fondly ruffled the friar's hair as he mentally shook his head. Too focused by far—but he had an idea in mind that would serve to expand his young friend's horizons admirably.

* * *

**6:00 a.m.**

Cardinal Jinette started his day with the rising of the sun. Each morning he had his breakfast in his office at the small balcony that overlooked the gardens below. He shared the same view with his Holiness, the Pope, but that was the end of the similarities between them. Jinette enjoyed the comfortingly familiar scent of the roses rising up to him as he lingered over his coffee and read the morning reports his hard-working clerks had prepared for him. Those men tended to fade in the background, overwhelmed by the sound and fury that was the Order's inner workings, but there was almost nothing that they did not know. They were his eyes and ears and through them, Jinette kept a firm finger on the goings on of every man.

Today's reports made note of the fact that Brother Ezekiel's niece had visited him and the good Brother had been considerably distraught afterwards. He would need to have a chat with the man, to offer what solace or assistance was needed. Next, Brothers Johan and Sebastion's medical assessments were complete. It appeared that the good Brothers were not taking care of themselves. Their contribution to the Order was of a high caliber, it would be necessary therefore to see to it that their health was safeguarded. A diet, the cessation of spirits, and good exercise would become their way of life. He didn't expect they would like it, but he was prepared to do what was necessary regardless. Also noted on the report was the fact that Carl had finished a project that had been keeping him working into the wee small hours of far too many nights. While his clerks had no idea what the project was, it appeared, judging by the friar's absorbed excitement, to be something of significance. He would need to check in with Carl in the next day or so if the friar did not come to him. Lastly, was the news that Van Helsing was back and that he was in poor physical shape. The results of his examination revealed extensive bruising, lacerations, a cracked rib and a badly sprained wrist. Despite all of this, he had been unsuccessful in his mission.

Jinette laid the reports down with a sigh before picking up his coffee cup and turning to the windows. Idly sipping the steaming brew he considered the hunter. Van Helsing had returned from Transylvania a changed man. He had always been inclined to be moody and a loner, which, while making him difficult to work with, also made him an excellent hunter. Now, it seemed as if the spark had left the hunter. He wasn't as driven, didn't seem as focused on achieving the tasks set for him as he once had been. Van Helsing of old would never have returned until the mission was completed, even at the cost of his own life. He was a man who had nothing else of value in his life, no ties or connections to keep him from risking everything.

The trip to Transylvania had changed him. He had found and lost love and discovered that he was not as hollow inside as he had believed himself to be. He had also discovered a friendship. Van Helsing, whether he knew it or not, was capable of deep devotion and caring. He had a need within himself to take care of others, to form attachments. He had been searching for his past because he was driven to find those attachments. While his search had proved fruitless, he had unknowingly formed an unexpected friendship and that friendship was seriously impacting his usefulness to the Order.

Jinette admitted to himself that he would need to attend to that problem himself, immediately.

A knock on the door roused him from his reverie and he turned as his secretary, Marcus, appeared with an apologetic expression on his face.

"Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but you have visitors. Friar Carl and Van Helsing. They say it's urgent they speak with you."

"Allow them in." Jinette moved back to the table and poured himself another cup of coffee. He heard Marcus speaking to someone outside, in the outer office. His secretary had an annoyed tone to his voice that suggested he wasn't pleased with the visitors. The Cardinal shook his head. He could have told Marcus his disapprovals were wasted on Van Helsing. The hunter was more likely to enjoy than be chastised by them.

The sound of footfalls on the marble tiles brought his eyes up as the door swung open to allow first Carl and then Van Helsing to enter. Carl immediately bobbled a half bow/half genuflection. Behind him, Van Helsing smirked at Jinette before he also managed a small bow. Jinette wasn't insulted; rather he was impressed the hunter had put in even a minimal effort. He wondered to himself if he was indeed having an effect upon the man.

"So, you are back," he murmured, a frown thinning his pale lips as he eyed the hunter's battered state. "This mission was hard on you, it would appear. That is why you have returned without completing it? To get additional help?"

"Something like that," Van Helsing admitted with a one-sided shrug. He moved away from Carl to take a seat in one of the wing-backed chairs facing Jinette's desk, angling his body so that he faced the balcony as he stretched his long legs out to cross them at the ankles.

"Hmmm," Jinette sniffed, but he did not rebuke the hunter. Instead he turned to the table and settled himself comfortably. "And Carl. What brings you to me this early morning? You do not often appear with the sun, unless you have been working all night. Have you completed your mysterious project?"

Carl nodded as he lifted a wooden box to display it to the Cardinal. "Yes, I believe I have. Van Helsing's return could not have come at a better time—he'll be able to test it for me."

The lid opened and Jinette leaned forward, eyeing the dark darts with interest.

"It's the serum I told you about," Carl informed the Cardinal with evident pride. "The cure for lycanthropy."

That brought Jinette to his feet, his hands reaching for the box. Carl handed it over, stepping back to stand with hands clasped before him as he bounced upon the balls of his feet while his eyes flew from Jinette to Van Helsing and back again.

Gingerly, Jinette lifted one dart to the light, tilting it so that the ruby contents sluggishly surged in a wave from one end of the cylinder to the other. This was all that remained of the great evil that had been Dracula. He felt his skin prickle with the thought that he was even this close to the vampire. That there had been so much evil in the world seemed a large price to pay for the quietly unassumingthing he held in his hand—but if the serum did work, it might have all been worth it.

Jinette raised his eyes to Van Helsing's, his shaggy brows rising in grudging admission. "You might indeed have been right to return at this time. You will test these darts?"

"Yes. I'll test them. But I'll need help."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Jinette replaced the dart and closed the box, handing it back to Carl with a smile that widened as he placed both hands on the friar's shoulders, giving them a little shake.

"Carl...you have done a wonderful thing! I know that you have put many hours into this project, you must be eager to have your work vindicated by Van Helsing. Of course he must test it, and we must give him every advantage to ensure that the test is successful. Yes?"

"Oh, yes of course," Carl nodded firmly, a smile flickering on his lips as he looked from one man to the other. "Absolutely!"

* * *

**5:00 p.m.**

"I am an absolute _dunce_! A completely cretinous, drooling sap!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Carl," Van Helsing called to the man who rode behind him. "You hardly ever drool—well, except for when you sleep but you can be forgiven for that."

They had been on the road scarcely three hours after their meeting with Jinette, retracing the long trip to the village and the werewolf Van Helsing had left two days before. During the two day's return journey, Carl had not stopped once in his self-castigation except to eat, sleep, and occasionally hurl a reproachful glare at Van Helsing.

For his part, the hunter found he was enjoying the trip; despite Carl's monotonous litany, he was enjoying the novelty of the friar's company more than he expected. The first time Carl had come with him on a mission he had had grave reservations about the friar's usefulness. Now he found that reservation had been replaced with confidence and an unexpected enjoyment in the society of a man who knew all his faults and vices and was still comfortable enough to be pissy with him.

They were now passing through the outskirts of the forest outside of the village. Carl's lamentations were periodically punctuated by outcries of distaste as the leaves above them, heavy with morning rain, dumped their wet loads on top of the two men. Thus far, by Carl's horrified calculations, he had had what amounted to at least two good handfuls of dead bugs, soggy leaves, and bird excrement dumped over his head. He had not taken kindly to Van Helsing's reasonable suggestion that he keep the hood of his robe up.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Carl flapped the front of his robe to send the accumulated detritus that slid down the front of it flying off. He was far too intent on removing the distasteful items to note that Van Helsing had paused, and then reined his horse back to Carl's until the hunter's hand caught his own, stilling his movements.

Startled, Carl looked up, his mouth already forming a question when Van Helsing released his hand to put his finger to his own lips. The hunter's eyes moved about the trees as his hand seemingly driftedto the stock of his crossbow. He eased his other arm free of the sling, grimacing slightly as it disappeared into his coat.

Carl suppressed the urge to whimper as he hastily fumbled at his saddlebags, finally emerging with his weapon of choice—a blow pipe, much like Van Helsing's. In his other hand was the wooden box that held their precious serum. Any move he might have made to load the darts was aborted, though, as Van Helsing shook his head, then gestured with a nod.

Carl looked in the direction of the nod and gasped as several men emerged from the boles of the trees and made their way over the wet ground toward them. These men weren't the ordinary suspicious villagers who always seemed to object to Van Helsing's presence. Rather, they were dressed in leathers and seemed to carry as many weapons strapped to their bodies as Van Helsing did. As they drew closer, Carl looked into their dark eyes and shivered at the sullen, calculating coldness he saw there. It didn't take a genius to realize these men were hunters like Van Helsing.

Van Helsing watched the men approach, his eyes narrowing as the grim figures fanned out to encompass he and Carl. His gaze remained on the man he had identified to himself as the leader.

The man was tall, with oddly vivid green eyes that were almost obscured by a tangled, dripping mat of dark hair. His face was also masked by a heavy beard that grew patchily upon his pale white skin. His clothing consisted of layers of leather which no doubt served as a form of protection in a fight. Judging by the dirt encrusting them, their owner had not enjoyed the comforts of a roof or soft bed in some time.

The leader approached to within a dozen feet, his eyes flickering to his men as they settled into position before returning to the two riders before him.

"You are Van Helsing," he said in a rasping growl as his eyes ran over the hunter thoughtfully.

"What do you want?" Van Helsing asked, none too happy with the identification. His face was on far too many wanted posters, it wasn't odd that he should be recognized though it was strange that he might be sought in a forest on the outskirts of nowhere. It made better sense that these men were here for other reasons and he and Carl had stumbled upon them by unhappy chance.

"That depends," the other man said, his eyes dropping down to where Van Helsing's hand rested upon his crossbow. "It's true that I could use the reward they're offering for you..." He licked his lips as he saw Van Helsing's gloved fingers tighten on the bow. "But it's a fact that those that go up against you usually end up dead. I'm not so eager to test that as I might have once been--for now, there are easier ways to make a living."

"Again, what do you want?"

The leader raised his hands slowly, palms open as a placating smile revealed a number of yellowing and blackened teeth. "Merely to talk. An exchange of information—perhaps you can help us."

"You have an odd way of asking for help," Van Helsing said, his legs tightening about the barrel of his horse as it chuffed and edged away from the man approaching stealthily from the side. The same man gulped as he suddenly found himself looking directly into the barrel of Van Helsing's pistol before it swung away toward the leader.

The leader's eyes narrowed as he looked down the same gun barrel, but he gestured his band back. Quietly, they faded back into the woods, for all intents leaving the three men alone in the small clearing. For a few moments, no one spoke. The only sounds were the falling splash of heavy rain drops upon the bobbing leaves and the occasional sound of the horses' displeasure at being made to stand motionless in the wet.

When the leader spoke, his voice held an almost laughable note of righteous censure to it. "To hold a gun on a man asking for help—that's not very neighborly."

"We're not neighbors," Van Helsing said sharply. "And I'm getting tired of asking what you want."

The man on the ground smiled easily at that, shrugging as he did so. "Yes, you are right. Very well, I'll get down to it. We're here for the werewolf—same as you, I fancy, yes?"

"Go on," the hunter said, neither his eyes nor his gun ever leaving the other man.

"Ahem...well, it occurs to me that we can help each other. You hunt creatures of the night, so do we. By all reports you're good at what you do, though you have the unfortunate tendency of leaving bodies in your wake. I'm...not so particular as some. I suggest we join forces."

Van Helsing's mouth compressed in a grimace of distaste, but he uncocked the hammer of his gun, laying it on the pommel of his saddle. The man on the ground relaxed visibly.

Carl looked from one to the other, a perplexed frown upon his face. "But, why are you hunting the werewolf?"

The leader looked at him for the first time, his face creasing into a knowing leer that made Carl's flesh creep beneath his robe.

"The pretty monk can say something besides complaints, eh? I'm sure he can do all sorts of things that make it worth your while to put up with his complaints."

The sound of Van Helsing's pistol being cocked was horribly loud in the shocked stillness and the leader's pale face abruptly blushed an ugly red as he hastily raised his hands. "No offense meant!"

"Offense taken," Van Helsing growled. "If you open that ugly mouth again to do anything but answer his question..."

"Forthereward!" the leader gabbled out, and then reined in his tongue with an effort. The look he fixed Van Helsing with promised retribution, but his voice and words were placating. "The circus...the owner is offering a large reward for the return of the werewolf."

"A reward?" Carl breathed in dismay as he looked to Van Helsing.

His friend shrugged. "I told you they were showing it. Evidently they don't like to lose their star attraction."

"You're right about that," the leader interjected. "So what about it? You're here for the werewolf, so are we. It makes no sense to work at cross purposes—better you throw your lots in with us. We can...help each other."

The leader licked his lips as his eyes darted to Carl briefly before returning to Van Helsing. Though he made an effort to appear harmless, the darkness of his gaze made his true intents as obvious as a painted whore at Mass. He couldn't hide that. Carl desired nothing more than to be shut of the fellow as soon as possible, but his men were still out there, in the woods. And if they turned him down and he actually allowed them to leave, he would still be skulking around somewhere, just out of sight, following their every move and plotting in a Machiavellian fashion. He'd make use of them somehow, either directly or indirectly. And sooner or later, their 'partnership' would end without notice when he decided to collect the reward for Van Helsing as well.

The Order's hunter shrugged, a frown of reluctant acquiescence upon his handsome face. "You're right, it makes sense." One raised finger stilled Carl's gasp of surprise as he slid his gun back into its holster at his hip.

"Excellent! Come with me then." The leader strode forward to catch at the reins of Van Helsing's horse only to frown darkly as the hunter twitched them out of reach.

"We've been traveling for a long time," Van Helsing explained easily. "We planned to stay at the inn in the wood. That hasn't changed. Tomorrow is soon enough to make our plans, surely."

Carl held his breath as the dark man's eyes narrowed and his ugly teeth worried his bottom lip in obvious indecision. He had set out to try to lull them into working with him, now he was forced to either continue to play the part or else to alert Van Helsing by insisting they stay. The ploy was ludicrously obvious, but plainly the man truly did want Van Helsing's willing cooperation.

"Fine," he said with obvious displeasure. With a surly growl he dropped back to the side, gesturing them on. "Go, have your night in a clean bed, but be ready at dawn. We'll come to fetch you at the inn."

Van Helsing nodded and set his heels to his horse, urging the animal forward at a walk. Carl hastily followed, shuddering as he felt the man's eyes on him until they passed from sight within the trees.

They rode silently for some time before Carl spoke quietly, his voice barely carrying to the man who rode beside him. "What are we going to do?"

"We'll have a good meal and enjoy warm beds out of the rain," Van Helsing said with a grim humor. "After that, we'll play it by ear."

"Oh." Carl rode in silence for some seconds before he remarked with forced casualness to his friend, "Play it by ear, eh? You know, there are some that might find that a rather dismal plan."

The other man's snort was his only answer.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new story

Notes: Other characters that appear in my stories are conjured from a mixture of a fertile imagination and mega doses of caffeine. When I write, I see them appear and simply describe them. They are not fashioned after any other person living or dead that I'm aware of.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsings time (which I feel are

merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness,

deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! My especial heartfelt thanks to Kawaiiktsune90, Toto3 (HUG), and Steph for taking the time from your busy day to review and encourage.

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 2**

4:01 a.m.

Carl came awake with a strangled squawk as a gloved hand covered his mouth. In the small flickering light of a single candle he made out the dark visage of Van Helsing, then in the next instant he was buried beneath heavy musty cloth.

"Get dressed," the hunter's deep voice came to him as a muffled white noise, almost covered over by the thudding of his own heart. With some effort, Carl fought his way out of the enshrouding cloth, recognizing it along the way as his robe and travel cloak, to emerge bushy haired and wild-eyed.

"Why did you _do_ that! You nearly stopped my heart!" he complained, making certain that his angry demands emerged as near whispers.

Van Helsing stood to one side of the small bed, an unconscious smirk appearing on his face at Carl's _sotto voce_ tirade. "We'll have to slip out, so no coffee. Knowing what you're like without your coffee, this seemed like the next best way to wake you up."

Carl huffed in exasperation, one bloodshot blue eye rolling up to Van Helsing as he wrestled his way out of the bed. "If that's..._ugh_...the best you could come up with..._damn it_...then I'm not the only one in urgent need of his morning coffee!"

Finally emerging from the tangled bed clothes, Carl arose to his feet and tottered over to the wash stand. Thank heavens there was water though it was, of course, horribly cold. With chattering teeth, the friar made a hasty job of washing up while trying to ignore the fact that Van Helsing was still in the room and watching every movement he made. He wasn't a prudish man, but still, there were some things a man liked to accomplish by himself. Which reminded him...

"Er...I have to...um," Carl bounced a bit, his knees knocking in the universal signal of urgent need.

Van Helsing snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned to face the door. "Go ahead, just hurry up!"

"Oh yes, of course, thanks ever so!" Carl sniped as he pushed the hunter out the door and slammed it, quietly, after.

Confident now that Carl would actually finish dressing, the hunter returned to his own room to collect his things. He hadn't lit a candle when he had arisen and he didn't do so now. Instead, he stood to one side of the closed shutters and peered through one of the sizeable cracks in the wooden partitions.

It was a dark night, the moon being often completely hidden behind thick clouds. In that meager light, there were no obvious signs to give away his watchers' presence, they were too good for that. It had taken some care to finally locate them, several yards away, camped in total darkness so that they could safely watch his room for any signs of life. A single brief flare of a match that was quickly extinguished in a plume of white smoke had finally rewarded his own hour-long vigil. In that brief instant he had seen three faces reflected in the wavering red flame. So they had divided their numbers, there would be men at the front of the inn as well, he was sure.

Carl's room was across the hall from his own, with no inconvenient windows so he had felt confident in lighting the single candle for the friar. And, if he were being truthful, he was not so callous as to awaken his innocent friar so ruthlessly without at least allowing him to see the face of his 'attacker'. He'd meant to get the man's heart pumping, not to stop it, no matter Carl's suspicions to the contrary.

Speaking of which...Carl had had quite enough time to finish his ablutions. Any longer and he was in danger of having the friar tumble back to sleep.

Treading with care to avoid making the old wooden floor creak, Van Helsing exited his room, closing his door firmly behind him. Three steps took him easily across the narrow hall and into Carl's room in time to see the friar arise grumbling from the room's only chair after having finished firmly lacing his boots.

At the hunter's entrance, Carl looked up into the other man's eyes, assessing what he saw there easily while he pulled on his fingerless gloves. "They're outside waiting?"

"Yes. I saw three. There are probably more in the front."

"Lovely," Carl sighed. "Well, how are we to get out without them stopping us? Over the roof?"

Van Helsing shrugged, one corner of his mouth rising at the easy way Carl talked about climbing out of windows and onto roofs in the dead of night. His bookworm had some surprises left in him still.

"I noticed there's an attic window when we came in," Carl hissed as he followed his friend quietly to the door, making sure that he pinched the candle flame out before it was opened. "That should do to let us out onto the roof. But what then? We're too high up to jump."

"I know. If we're careful, we can jump onto the barn roof. It's a good eight-foot leap, but it's slightly lower than the inn so that should help."

"Eight foot? That's quite a jump in the dark! Won't we make too much noise?"

They were in the hallway now, keeping close to the wall to avoid the creaking center boards of the narrow path. Van Helsing didn't answer Carl's question, instead devoting his energies to locating the small unobtrusive door leading to the attic. The stairs upward were villainously narrow, forcing both men to move along it sideways. In the lead, Van Helsing was the unlucky one to get a faceful of most of the large sticky cobwebs that hung invisible in the darkness. Those that he didn't discover remained for Carl to make the disgusted acquaintanceship of.

Mercifully, the narrow stairs debouched into a large cluttered room that allowed them to stand upright.

"Ugh! What a revolting experience!" the friar hissed as he violently scrubbed at his face to remove all lingering strands of web.

"Next time you can go first," Van Helsing growled as he looked about them for the expected window. "I think I swallowed a spider or two with all that web."

The friar emerged from his writhing to fix the hunter with a sour gaze. "Well, then at least you've had breakfast. Later, if you'd like, I'll burp you. But maybe you'd like to put that off until we get out of here? Speaking of which, how _are_ we going to make that leap without waking everyone?"

"Hmph, no coffee makes you tetchy."

"That and having to skulk about to avoid a band of brutes who aren't picky as to who or what their bed partners are," Carl reminded the hunter. "I'd prefer avoiding our friends, especially in the dark, if you don't mind."

"Point taken." The hunter turned away to move carefully through the clutter to the slightly less dark shape of the attic window. It took very little prying to force the rickety sash up. But, rather than climbing out onto the roof, he turned instead to Carl. "Take your boots off."

"Take...what?"

"That's how we'll make the leap quietly. In bare feet."

"Ahh," Carl breathed, nodding before he quickly dropped down onto his backside on the dusty attic floor to tackle his laces. "You know that's rather clever! There's a bit of cat burglar in you, I think."

It didn't take over two minutes before they were standing upright again, their boots slung by the laces about their necks. With care, they climbed through the window and out onto the roof. Once there, they waited until the moon was hidden by clouds to make their run for the roof's edge and the barn beyond. They had a bad moment when they realized that, in the near perfect dark, they couldn't actually _see_ the barn, so their leap, taken together, was more a leap of faith than science. When their bare feet touched down upon the rough shingles, both men dropped down prone and Carl noisily kissed the gritty wood beneath him.

Once they had caught their breath, they carefully climbed down into the hayloft and then to the barn floor. They easily located their horses, and managed to saddle them in the darkness. From there, it was only a short breathless scuttle to the woods beyond and safety.

"My God," Carl gasped as he plopped down to pull his boots on. "We actually did it!"

"Hmm. We're out, now the question is where to from here?"

"I should think that's obvious--the circus. I'll need to get more information about our werewolf friend."

"I'm not keen on going back there," Van Helsing muttered as he carefully flexed his aching wrist. He'd dispensed with the sling the previous night, confident that his mysterious healing ability would have his arm right in the morning. Of course, jumping and climbing had not helped the process along and he was beginning to rethink the sling now.

Carl watched his careful maneuverings with sympathy but his reply was firmly definite. "Yes, well no matter how they greeted you before, everything has changed now. If they've put a reward out for the poor beast, then they might look differently on our interest in it now. We'll just be one of those hunting it. It'll be in their best interests to give us all the information they can."

"Carl, the reward is for returning the wolf to them, not slaying or curing it."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you can find a way to gloss over that bit when the time comes."

It took an act of sheer will not gawp incredulously at the friar as he confidently put an end their discussion by mounting his horse. When he turned again to Van Helsing, it was with a politely lifted eyebrow serving as a subtle reminder that time was passing and they had a long ways to go.

* * *

5:20 a.m. 

Despite the drama of their early morning rising, the ride in search of the circus proved to be uneventful and even pleasant. The night was cool and clean without the rain that might have made it miserable. They had to be careful in the neighborhood of the inn, so they made a wide walking circle about it before orienting on the last known direction of their target. After that, the horses were eager for a trot and they let the animals have their heads.

Carl spent their travel time considering the werewolf and what little they knew of him. Something was bothering him about the creature, something didn't add up. As was his habit, he 'discussed' it aloud with himself, while Van Helsing listened quietly.

There was the most important question of all--how the circus had come in possession of the poor soul in the first place. Who had the werewolf been before his transfiguration? Also, the circus could hardly be ignorant of the fact that he _was_ a werewolf as the next morning would prove his humanity. At that point, how could they justify keeping the fellow caged like an animal much less exhibiting him as one?

Van Helsing could offer little to no information as the circus performers had done everything in their power to keep him away from the exhibit.

"Hmph! As to that, it was a certainly a lucky coincidence that the wolf escaped just then, don't you think?" Carl huffed.

"You think they released it?"

"Well, it's possible. But that would suggest that they felt confident of getting it back. At least at the time."

"So something went wrong," Van Helsing mused, nodding thoughtfully. "Makes sense. With luck, if we can find out what made them feel they could loose it in the first place, we might find some way to duplicate the process."

The sky was lightening as they traveled, its early dawn radiance cast a pink glow over everything it touched. It occurred to Van Helsing that in their easy discussions of the werewolf and with the rosy light warming Carl's habitual pallor, it was easy to forget the man was a somewhat naive friar whose time out in the world had been severely limited. He tended to forget that, more so now, after having had a number of adventures that proved Carl was made of hardier stuff than might be supposed. He needed to make sure that he didn't become overconfident about his friend's abilities.

"What are you thinking?" Carl's intelligent eyes upon Van Helsing held a canny shrewdness that made the hunter chuckle.

"Can't you guess?"

"Ah, guessing games, I didn't think you went in for those."

"Well, there isn't much else to do at the moment..."

"Alright. I'd guess then that you're concerned, for some unknown reason, about me. Am I right?"

"Yes, though 'unknown' might be stretching it some."

Carl nodded, considering for several seconds before answering with a pleased note in his voice. "Actually, I have no problem whatsoever with your being worried for me. I might display an alarming talent for climbing on roofs and avoiding brigands but I assure you I have no desire for the rough and tumble life you lead. So feel free to look upon me as spun glass all you please. And in return, I promise to treat any and all dangers with a suitable cowardly respect."

His answer was a snort from the hunter, but the flash of white teeth and the lightening of the hunter's normally dark gaze lit a small spark of pleasure within Carl that warmed his chilled skin and brought a fond smile to his own lips.

* * *

6:00 a.m. 

They could smell it long before they finally came within sighting distance of the circus. It was a combination of sawdust, animal excrement, grim expectation, and grease. A stationary circus is a thing that imprints itself upon the landscape like a catastrophic event and leaves behind as much of itself as it takes away. This circus, especially, seemed determined to imprint itself upon the landscape. They'd chopped down trees to make a clearing, churned up the earth to anchor the large cages, and scattered the trash of their daily living far and wide. The scents of the animals that prowled their cages were exotic and unfamiliar and served to spook whatever wildlife lived within the forests so that hunting for food to sustain the animals was proving to be quite difficult. Coupling that with the loss of their star attraction and the lack of incoming monies as they were forced to wait in the boonies for any news of it, and the circus personnel were primed to treat any curious passersby roughly.

When Van Helsing entered the grounds with Carl, he was aware of every single hostile glare that pierced him from a dozen different directions. He'd had to literally fight his way into this camp before and he didn't imagine they would have warmed up to him any since then. But, as Carl had said, everything had changed since then; the friar's assurances were proving true--while they might have their skins peeled by some of the looks they were receiving, no one attempted to stop them.

Carl made sure that he kept very close to Van Helsing. He'd never liked circuses, even as a small child. They made him feel a wary uneasiness that he would have been hard put to explain. This particular circus was in dire straits, that much was obvious. Whatever dislike he might have for the industry in general, the decrepitude and unwholesomeness of this one made his skin crawl. Despite that, he found himself still craning his neck and ogling the sights about him, staring unabashedly with open mouth at the seven-foot giant who had put in an early appearance and then at the 3-foot dwarf that appeared at the giant's side. Beyond the entrance that was set off with moldy bales of hay, were the animal cages and for one brief delightful moment the bareback rider whose pink tulle costume did nothing to hide a splendid length of leg. The animals were disappointing—a few cats, a zebra and a large black bear--all, with the exception of a magnificent black-maned lion, proved to be dispirited and obviously ill.

Van Helsing was less inclined to gawk and took it upon himself to pull Carl along by the elbow. He had no idea if the friar had ever been to a true circus before and found the sight of his friend's inner child rubbernecking to be endearing. Given other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it, but he still had enough bruises from his last visit to take the shine off this particular adventure.

They had made their way to almost the center of the camp by the time the giant and the dwarf, followed by a score of men in clown makeup, blocked their way. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as they spread out to encircle them and his hands slipped into his coat for his weapons.

Carl blinked disingenuously at the crowd as he pushed his hood down, turning in a circle to take them in. It was with an effort that he suppressed a shudder at the horrible white faces of the clowns; he found that it was oddly easier to look at the giant and the dwarf so when he spoke it was to them.

"Er...we've come to talk with the owner...about your little problem."

"Wot problem would that be, mate?" The dwarf's voice was a rusty high-pitched rasp with an incongruously hearty Cockney twang. His demeanor, though, was not at all welcoming. Perhaps it had something to do with the giant at his side who never took his eyes off Van Helsing as his massive fists spasmodically clenched and released.

"You've got the word out about your missing werewolf," Van Helsing's unexpected matter-of-factness made the dwarf blink in surprise, the hunter only shrugged. "Last time I was here, you made me feel so welcome I thought I should try to help you with your little problem."

"Hah hah," Carl forced a strangled cackle out as he caught at the hunter's arm in a doomed attempt to pull him back. "Actually, we're here to offer our services to locate your wolf for you."

"We don't need yer 'elp," the dwarf sneered, but his eyes fixed on Van Helsing with a speculative gleam that Carl caught easily.

"Really? We met some hunters in the woods that were most eager for our help. _They_ mentioned that they were hunting the wolf for you and practically begged us to help."

A supreme effort of will kept Van Helsing from rolling his eyes skyward in the hopes that he'd _see_ the lightening bolt before it struck them down for that enormously skewed version of the facts. Instead, he forced his attention to remain upon the dwarf.

"You know me and what I do. I can help you find the wolf, but I won't fight my way through you to do so. It's your decision."

The circus folk shuffled about, their eyes sliding to the sides to meet and then dart away. To Carl, it appeared as if there was an awful urgency in those stares, a certain guilty worry not in keeping with their hostile bravado.

"_Vermin_!"

The bass profundo bark made them all jump. Carl involuntarily emitted a shrill '_Eep_!' of surprise and grabbed at his heart as it thudded painfully in his chest. Van Helsing reacted by closing his hand upon the butt of his gun as he looked beyond the dwarf to the yawning black opening of the largest tent standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dwarf's visage had assumed an angry cast, but he stepped aside and bowed Van Helsing and Carl toward the tent. Taking their cue from their apparent leader, the other performers also fell back grudgingly. Whatever the meaning of the single word had been, it appeared that they were now to be allowed into the inner sanctums.

Cautiously, the two men proceeded through the ranks of performers, passing within mere inches of the dwarf and his huge lethal friend who required a quiet word from the dwarf to steady him. When they stepped into the darkness, Carl let out a relieved _whoosh_ of air he hadn't been aware of holding.

From the darkness before them, the bass voice spoke softly. "Forgive my compatriots. They're unused to strangers."

Van Helsing's white teeth made an appearance in a smile that was in no way friendly. "That's an odd fault for performers to suffer from. Apparently, you don't have the same problem. At least, not this time around."

Both Carl and the hunter blinked as a match flared briefly and then floated down in the darkness to touch the wick of a standing lantern. The shadows dissipated, sliding back to reveal a man standing beside a jumble of wooden boxes. In the background Carl could just make out the gleam of the flickering flame upon the upright bars of a caged wagon. The owner of the voice shrugged as he moved to seat himself on one of the overturned boxes. He was an average man, of average height, weight and appearance. The poor lighting robbed the man and his surroundings of color, but Carl was able to make out the scraggly short hair dimmed with broad washes of grey that clung to his scalp like a raveled cap. He had light eyes that were baggy with wrinkles and a thin slit of a mouth that also had an array of deep crevices surrounding it. Dressed in a stripped shirt with rolled sleeves and dark dirty trousers, he presented the picture of a middle aged man who had gone to seed. Nothing would have marked him in any way remarkable until he spoke and that amazing cultured voice rolled out in richly sculpted waves.

"I hope that you will forgive us for our last meeting," he murmured, an easy smile showing unexpectedly perfect white teeth that blazed in the near darkness. He crossed his legs and hooked his hands over his kneecap comfortably. "I didn't know who you were at that time. If I had, I assure you we would have behaved much differently."

The sheer brazenness of the lie made Carl blink in stupefaction; Van Helsing only raised an eyebrow.

"So now that we're all friends," the owner's smile widened, "perhaps we can help each other. I have an offer for you; I hope you'll hear me out?"

"The hunters you hired already made us an offer. Are you planning on upping the ante?"

"Ah," the owner chuckled slightly. "No, that would be counterproductive. Let them deal with the wolf, they're well suited for it, I believe. The offer I'm proposing to you is of a different nature—a partnership, if you will."

"Partnership!" Carl barked in amazement, frowning as the light eyes turned to him with lazy amusement that almost masked a fierce interest. The man before them might outwardly appear at ease, but inwardly he was fairly vibrating with energy and purpose.

"You're surprised. I suppose it is sudden but that doesn't negate the offer's value. I've had an opportunity to do some research on you, Mr. Van Helsing. It's been a fascinating study though somewhat sketchy. Very little is known directly, I've had to read between the lines quite a bit. What I've come to discover, though, leads me to believe that we are ideally suited to one another. We can each provide a unique service to the other—you bring both international notoriety as well as an amazing understanding of the creatures of the dark, an almost sixth sense for locating and dispatching them. You also have a reputation as a murderer—I would say rather you are misunderstood and unappreciated. I can change that. With my help, you will be remade into the hero that you truly are. Ican offer you a place among a society that will accept, even applaud your talents. With my help, you will be welcomed where you are now vilified, and in the process you will find the peace you have long been denied."

Van Helsing's gaze dropped for the first time as the careful words sank into his mind, touching several harsh chords within him at once. He'd lived for a long time as the reviled monster whose face graced wanted posters in every major city. His life was, perforce, almost the same as the monsters he hunted—skulking in shadows, hiding from others while he waited to strike, and then dealing with the soul wrenching aftermath of his deeds alone. In the years that he had worked for the Order, his employers had never lifted a finger to rectify the situation.

Carl looked from the owner to the hunter, wincing as he saw the gamut of emotions that crossed Van Helsing's features. There was such pain there, he'd had no idea. But the man who sat opposite them, who proposed such a thing, had clearly seen in an instant what Carl hadn't managed to realize in all the years he'd known the hunter. Without thinking, moved by pity and concern, Carl reached out to touch Van Helsing's shoulder, and then squeezed it. As the hazel eyes turned to his own, Carl smiled and shrugged a little. His hand rose to briefly cup the hunter's warm cheek as he spoke in a murmur meant for his friend's ears alone.

"Van Helsing...Gabriel, nothing is perfect. But I think that what we do is as close to doing the right thing as is possible. You've done wonderful things, whether they've been appreciated at the time or not. I know that, we all do. Ultimately, he can't do anything for you that you can't do for yourself. And you won't be alone, I promise. I'm here."

The owner's eyes narrowed as he watched the two men converse quietly. Plainly, he wasn't pleased with Carl's intercession, but he made no move to stop him.

Van Helsing smiled at his friend with a shrug of his own. "Don't worry Carl. I'm not about to break; it would take more than words." With that, the hunter turned back to the owner of the circus. "The only proposal I'm interested in is one that will lead me to that werewolf."

A sigh rippled through the darkness between them as the other man leaned forward to prop his chin upon steepled fingers with an air of disappointment. "Very well. I can't induce you to sense, of course. Tell me, what is your interest in the wolf? Knowing you as I do, you can't expect me to believe you would locate him simply to turn him back over to us. You have another reason to seek him. Is it to destroy him?"

"No. If we find him, there's a possibility we can cure the disease and make him completely human again."

Carl's eyes closed as his hazy plans for a convincing lie were blown apart with the hunter's appalling honesty. In his mind's eye he had no difficulty in picturing the owner calling his people in to expel them as rapidly as possible.

"Human?" the owner breathed, eyes wide with amazement. "How would you do that?"

The friar's eyes as well as his mouth fell open in surprise.

"It's enough that we say we can," Van Helsing demurred. "Now, will you help us to locate the wolf?"

The owner's eyes dropped briefly in thought. Carl began to believe that the man might actually assist them—his hopes were dashed almost immediately when the resolute gray gaze arose to theirs again.

"I appreciate your good intentions but you must understand that you haven't proposed anything that would benefit us. Of course, the news of an antidote is amazing, but while it would no doubt help the wolf, it would prove disastrous for us. Where you see a soul in torment, I confess that to me he is only a valuable commodity. Now...if you were to consider a trade of equal value... Yourself for the wolf, that I might be persuaded to accept."

The hunter's face in the red light grew, if possible, more closed than before. Turning on his heel, he tossed back to Carl as he strode to the tent's entrance, "We're wasting our time." Carl paused in his pursuit of the hunter when the owner spoke softly.

"There are none so blind as those that will not see. You, friar...Carl, I believe? You are obviously an educated man who is used to seeing more than black and white. I urge you to speak with him. If you care for him, help him to see my offer is in his best interests. And you needn't be afraid of losing him, you know. I can always use a clever man; you would be able to remain at his side."

The smooth cultured words slid over Carl's senses like water, seductively mesmerizing. It was with an effort that he shook them off and hurried from the tent, breathing a sigh of relief as he emerged into the light of day. The grounds were curiously quiet in the morning sun, all the performers were absent from view and even the animals lay in a heavy drowsing stupor within their cages. The only disturbance was a regular beat of sound that almost immediately proved to be Van Helsing on horseback, leading Carl's horse after. He stopped beside the friar, tossing him his own horse's reins. Carl lost no time in mounting, though once he was in the saddle he was at a loss as to where to go from there.

As if in answer, Van Helsing tossed his dark head toward the entrance.

"We'll find the wolf ourselves. For whatever reason, it's staying in the area. We'll need to find a water source—it should come when it gets thirsty enough."

They left the circus behind with mixed feelings. Carl particularly was sorry that he had insisted upon coming. It had done nothing in the way of helping their mission along while at the same time had proved damaging to Van Helsing. Darkness had taken root in the hunter's manner that Carl wished with all his heart he had the means to dispel. He found himself once again feeling the need to comfort his friend but he didn't know how.

They'd gone scarcely a quarter mile, each man lost in his own thoughts, when suddenly chaos struck. A massive form fell on Van Helsing, driving him from his saddle to the ground with a hard crashing thud. And instant later, Carl too was struck down. He rolled and fought the thing that clung to him, gradually becoming aware that he was in fact being held by many pairs of hands. From there it took only an instant to realize he was surrounded by several deathly white faces whose eyes ran with red and black rivulets. Horrified, he fought harder but he was more than outnumbered. He wasn't injured, but he was effectively bound in layers of heavy canvas and cord until he could no longer move at all. Wrapped like a mummy, he was rolled over on the ground until he ended propped up against a large standing rock. For the first time, he got a good look at his attackers.

The clearing was filled with circus performers in dirty tattered finery. Quite a number of them bore the obvious signs of his and Van Helsing's fists. His captors proved to be a half-dozen clowns sporting incongruous white paint and red bulbous noses. They were tending their injuries grimly but the looks they cast in his direction didn't seem to be overly hostile. They had the air of men who had had a job to do and were relieved to be done with it.

A small grunting noise turned Carl's attention. The giant was fully engaged with holding tight to a struggling semi-bound Van Helsing who looked like he would like to get loose long enough to make his displeasure well and truly known. The giant was sitting on the ground with Van Helsing half sprawled over him on his back; one huge arm was wrapped about the hunter's neck, the other about his chest. The dwarf, a sweating muscle-bound strong man and the barebacked rider were attempting to finish binding their victim. Judging by the swearing and muttering, it wasn't going well. Things improved remarkably, though, when Carl's clowns joined the fray. At last, a thoroughly trussed hunter was dropped down beside Carl.

Heaving a gusty sigh, the dwarf plopped down onto the ground before them and wiped his sopping forehead.

"You don't 'alf put up a fight, mate!" he growled at Van Helsing, but a smile touched his lips and there was a definite air of satisfaction in his manner. "Now, wot say we all 'ave a sit and cool down? I've got things to say to you and I mean to 'ave a few answers."

"We've already answered your master," Van Helsing growled, shaking strands of dark sweaty hair from his face. "We don't plan on helping him, you can tell him that."

"'Elpin' 'im!" the dwarf crowed with an enormous bray of laughter that made his rasping voice crack. "Coo, why would I want to 'elp '_im_!"

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new story

Notes:

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsings time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

Thank you very much **Runts Gal** and **Miyuki** for taking the time to review my story. I hope that you enjoy this new chapter!

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 3**

9:00 a.m.

Carl felt himself completely at a loss and spiraling rapidly toward hopeless befuddlement. A quick glance at Van Helsing proved the hunter was experiencing the same reaction; the fact that he wasn't alone in his confusion was, regrettably, less than comforting.

The dwarf sat, silently watching their faces with a pleasure that was insultingly plain, but Carl couldn't find it in himself to try to put on a better show. He'd been harried and harassed from the moment Van Helsing had appeared at his lab table until this moment and he was damned tired of it. So fine, let the little so-and-so gloat all he liked, just so long as eventually he got around to spitting out some answers.

Evidently their host was realizing he had achieved the maximum enjoyment he was going to get from his captives; his disappointment would have been amusing if his captives were in better spirits.

"I guess you and yer mate'd like a little explanation?" the dwarf prompted Van Helsing, who only raised an eyebrow at him. "Strong silent type, eh? Fine, fine, I've dealt wiv yer sort before; I'll start wiv introducin' meself then—Vermin's the name."

"_Vermin_?" Carl's shocked disbelief was insultingly clear but the dwarf only drew himself up to his full, if limited, height and looked down on the cleric with disdain.

"Aye, _Vermin_. We can't all be born wiv a bleedin' silver spoon in our pie 'ole, mate. If I 'aven't a problem wiv it, why should you?"

"Ah…well, I suppose you're right," Carl stammered as a red flush mottled his pale cheeks. "Excuse my bad manners."

Vermin appeared to be mollified by this genuine admission and smiled as he nodded to Carl. "Don't mention it."

With an elaborate wave to the side, the dwarf indicated the giant towering over them all. "An' this is Peter. You don't 'ave a problem wiv that, do ya shave pate?"

"No no," Carl assured him, biting down the urge to rebut the less flattering appellate of 'shave pate'. He was rather proud of his hair, in a quiet sort of way, but he suspected if he made that fact known to Vermin, the dwarf might just give him a tonsure out of spite. It was better not to tempt the fates.

Obviously rediscovering his earlier enjoyment of the situation, Vermin went on to introduce the strong man (Thor), the bare backed rider (Clarie), and each of the clowns (whose names Carl was unable to even begin to remember). During this time, Van Helsing never looked at anyone else but Vermin and judging by his expression he had long ago ceased to be amused.

When the last clown had been summoned forth and gravely acknowledged, Vermin turned his attention back to the two bound men.

"And that leaves you two blokes," he announced with satisfaction. "Been a bit of a bother already, 'aven't you? Got the old man in a lather. Mmph...I suppose I should be thankin' you for that."

"Thanking us?" Carl asked carefully, not sure of his ground. But Vermin only shrugged and nodded.

"Aye. You wouldn't know, would you? Alright, I'll come clean. You two 'ave walked into a fine mess, all wide-eyed and innocent. Serve you right if I let you founder about in it, but that wouldn't serve me mate. So, you offered the old man yer 'elp—he didn't want it? Well then, I'll be takin' it."

An impatient hitch of movement brought all eyes to Van Helsing who eyed the assembly with an edgy annoyance that was fast becoming dangerous. "If you know what's good for you, you'll get to the point," he advised quietly.

For once, the dwarf bit down on his tendency for sarcastic comebacks and nodded. "Aye, I can see you've got a short fuse. Alright. This 'ole thing started wiv me mate, Devon. "'E's a 'andful, but no 'arm in 'im. Just youthful good spirits. Course, the old man 'as no patience for such things and 'e and Devon clashed regular. Didn't 'elp that the boy was 'is son. Right or wrong, Devon figured 'e 'ad some right to some of the money the show brought in. Course, wot ever 'e got from the old man—either direct or by slight of 'and—'e tossed away on drink an' women. But that's youth for ya."

At that point, Van Helsing stirred again, his low cough held a growling note to it that caught Vermin's attention immediately.

"Right, right you are, mate. Anyway, we come to this village an' set up for the show. Problem was, not one of the bleedin' peasants showed up for it! Cheeky buggers didn't 'ave no use for us at all! So we put on the paint and frills and went to _them_, if you take my meanin'? Just a bit of a walk about, a tease if you will, to show 'em wot they were missin'. Except they didn't take to us any better in person than at a distance. Oh, they come out to watch, but ever last one of 'em give us the evil eye—even the ruddy tykes! Not a smile or wave from any of 'em. It was like strollin' through a bleedin' mausoleum! It put the wind up all of us, and even the old man got the picture finally. I think the only one that didn't want to get straight out of that 'ell 'ole was Devon. For some reason 'e took a likin' to the place. Maybe because they 'ated the sight of us so much, 'e 'ad to twit their noses a bit. Wot ever the reason, that night 'e 'elped 'imself to wot funds the old man 'ad and shagged off to the village."

"Alone?" Carl's interruption failed to upset the dwarf, Vermin only shrugged ruefully.

"Aye. And I'll be everlastin' sorry for it. I knew the boy was goin' an' I did nothin' to stop 'im. Didn't even offer to tag along, to keep an eye on 'im."

"Oh," Carl blinked, a mollifying smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. "You would hardly know he'd come to mischief."

Again Vermin only shrugged, but his downcast features assured the two men that he did indeed continue to blame himself.

"Finish the story," Van Helsing ordered, though his tone had lost its former abrasive note and his hazel eyes no longer held the menace they once had.

"Right." Vermin shook himself, like a dog shaking his water-logged coat after a swim. He rallied then, sitting up straighter, and his voice was firm and steady as he met his captive's eyes once again. "Well, we don't know much about wot 'appened there, though we've got our suspicions. Enough said that when daylight come, the boy was still missin'. We wanted to go back for 'im straight away but the old man wouldn't 'ave it. 'E let us wait where we were, at least, an' as the day got longer and night started creepin' closer it was pretty obvious to us all that somethin' 'ad 'appened to the lad. The old man, 'e surprised us then by sayin' 'e'd go to the village 'imself to find the kid. We tried to talk 'im into takin' Peter, at least, but 'e wouldn't listen. Father and son--stubborn, stupid, short-sighted beggars the both of 'em!"

"Well, obviously whatever mischief the village did to the boy, the father came back well enough," Carl interrupted firmly.

""E come back around dawn," Vermin affirmed gruffly. "All alone. When we asked about the boy, 'e only shook 'is 'ead. Wouldn't give us any particulars. Only thing he did was to go into the big tent, to that old caged wagon, and inside he 'ung a bag of 'erbs."

"Herbs?" Van Helsing asked, leaning forward as best his bindings would allow. "What sort of herbs? What did it look like? Do you have it with you now?"

"Tut tut, mate! All in due time. Listen to wot I've got to say, then you can be askin' questions all you like."

"Fine. Hurry it up then." Van Helsing awkwardly settling back against the rock behind him, his expression one of resignation.

Vermin watched the hunter closely, a sly smile causing his mouth to slide up on one side in a smirk. "'Ee, mate, you 'ave a way wiv you, don't ya? You should take a page from yer friend's book. Quiet and respectful goes a good bit farther than bein' snarly."

Van Helsing grunted rudely. "If you want tea manners, then take the ropes off us. But whatever you do, get it done sometime today!"

The dwarf started up, opening his mouth for a retort only to be pulled back to his seat by the giant behind him. When Vermin turned in surprise to the giant, Peter only shook his head, and then gestured to Van Helsing and Carl.

Vermin glowered sullenly, but he continued his story with no further delay.

"The twilight come and the owner, Mr. Charles, 'e wouldn't let anybody approach the tent nor talk about the boy. When it was full night settled, 'e disappeared into the tent and we didn't see 'im again until the next day. That's when 'e showed it to us."

"The werewolf," Carl guessed and the dwarf nodded.

"Aye. It 'ad come for the 'erbs. Turns out the village sported a witch and she gave Mr. Charles the 'erbs. She told 'im to put them in the cage at night and ter wait, somethin' would come. When it did, 'e was to close the door after it, gentle. The 'erbs would soothe it. When the mornin' come, 'e'd 'ave 'is son again."

"How horrible," Carl breathed, shaking his head. "So the werewolf came, and he trapped it. But surely the next day, when the wolf changed back into the boy, he would have let him out."

"No. Not Mr. Charles," Vermin denied with real anger that made a mockery of his earlier sham tempers. True hatred shown in his eyes as he leaned forward and spat out the rest of his story. "'E locked the cage and wouldn't let the boy out. We tried to talk to 'im, but all 'e'd say was 'is son was dead, and the wolf was 'is recompense. Or somethin' like that. "'E left the kid in the cage like an animal and we moved on. Every night wiv a moon, 'ed 'ave the cage drawn out of the tent and the boy would change. It was 'orrible. I'll never forget it as long as I live. It weren't long before he started showin' the wolf, like it really was an animal. And people come to see it. Word got about and we started to get crowds of people. And 'e showed the wolf just like 'e didn't know wot it really was. 'Is own flesh and blood...like a bloody beast. That's when you come, mate, and we decided to spring the kid. It all worked out fine."

"It didn't work out fine at all," Van Helsing said quietly, though they could hear the anger beneath his words. "You let the wolf loose near a large village, Keely, where its nature would drive it to kill and make more like itself. Those villagers aren't responsible for infecting your friend, but you've done them grievous harm."

The circus folk stirred guiltily, drawing back from Vermin as if to leave the blame behind them. The dwarf noticed and scowled, but didn't gainsay the implied fault.

"Alright, I won't deny wot you say. I'm not 'appy wiv meself anymore 'n you are. That's why we're 'ere now. I 'eard you say that you 'ad an antidote. As you no doubt guessed, I've got the means to bring the wolf to you."

A grubby hand extended to hunter—in it was a small round bundle, tied up in a white cloth that was dotted with a tiny purple flower print. The ordinariness of the thing served to make it all the more sad and horrifying. Vermin noted their expressions of distaste and shrugged as he bobbled the thing in his hand for a moment, then allowed it to roll off his palm to bounce on the ground until it rested beside Van Helsing's bound legs.

"That's why the wolf doesn't leave the area," Carl grimly deduced as he eyed the bundle. "Why it stays in the vicinity of the circus. Between the herbs, and the fact that it's all the boy knows... My God, he must be terrified."

"Aye. That 'e is. But 'e's changin'...all the time. The wolf's takin' over, even when the sun is up and shinin'; Devon's more like a beast than a man. Toward the end, he just sat in the cage, wiv 'is 'ead in a corner."

"He's being treated as an animal. How could he be expected to behave any differently?" Van Helsing sighed, then shook his head, bringing his gaze up to Vermin's. "Get us out of these ropes. The day's half over; if we're going to trap the wolf, we'll need time to prepare."

Peter came forward, crouching down between Van Helsing and Carl as Vermin stood and walked around to the other side of the hunter. But rather than untying the man, the dwarf instead held out his hand to one of the clowns who placed a long shining knife in it followed by a dark green bottle.

Instantly, the hunter lunged sideways, trying to knock Vermin to the ground but he was seized by the giant and shoved back down; the giant's hand thrust into Van Helsing's long dark hair and clenched, pulling his head back to bare his throat.

"What are you doing!" Carl cried, also struggling against his bonds in an attempt to bodily push Peter away. The other circus folk rallied then to catch at the friar, pressing him back against the rock and then holding him immobile.

"Sorry mate," Vermin said with what appeared to be real regret as he looked down into Van Helsing's stormy eyes. "Devon...'e's me friend. And you've got a bad reputation for leavin' bodies in yer wake. So I'm gonna just make certain that you take a little extra care this time. Don't worry, it won't do you any 'arm, provided you get the cure for it in a couple day's time. Now 'old still, wouldn't want to cut yer windpipe open by accident..."

The giant's huge body obscured the hunter from Carl's horrified gaze; he could hear Van Helsing struggling and his snarl of anger and then his grunt of pain and imagined the long blade slicing into his skin, leaving behind in the wound whatever disgusting brew Vermin had chosen.

A few seconds later, Vermin stepped back into view. Grimly, he capped the green bottle and slipped it into a pocket before tending to the knife he still held. Carl's horrified eyes were locked on the befouled blade, running with scarlet and a vivid green gel.

"What did you do to him? Is he alright?"

The dwarf nodded, but didn't speak. He carefully wiped the blade on a bit of cloth, making certain that he didn't touch it until it was completely clean. When that was done, he slid the blade into his own belt.

Beside Carl, Peter shifted, settling down on his hip. He held Van Helsing to his chest, the hunter's eyes were closed and his skin was pale and sweating.

"Why did you do that? He would have helped you!" Carl writhed within his canvas shroud, his eyes fixed upon his friend. "Let me out of this thing; is he alright?"

Carl directed his anger at Peter; meeting the giant's gaze, he was astonished to see the big man's eyes were swimming. His huge hands were awkwardly cradling and stroking his unconscious victim as if he were a doll or a cat. Blinking, Carl's bemused gaze turned to Vermin only to be surprised again at the guilt he saw in the little man's face.

"You didn't want to do that," Carl said slowly. "You didn't have to...Van Helsing would have done everything possible to keep your friend safe."

"I know that, mate. I really do," Vermin said quietly, then shrugged. "Problem is...this time it _is_ our friend at stake. This time, 'yer gonna 'ave to pull off the impossible."

* * *

1:00 p.m. 

Van Helsing's and Carl's bindings were removed after Vermin grimly assured the friar that he had not brought the antidote with him so there was no use in attempting to take it once they were free.

Carl had immediately taken charge of the hunter, sending Peter stumbling back to stand wringing his hands and looking as though he had been sanctioned by God Himself. Vermin sat on a fallen log with the giant, placating and soothing his big friend, who sat with one of the dwarf's small hands clasped within both his large ones.

Carl cleaned the deep cut that circled the base of Van Helsing's throat, grimacing at the red unwholesome look of the wound. An infection had already started up.

"How did you expect him to do this impossible thing you're demanding if he's been poisoned?" Carl demanded hotly. "Why him and not me? It would have made better sense!"

"No offense, shave pate," Vermin sneered, "I didn't know you were that eager to get yer throat cut. And we chose 'im because fer all that you two are cozy, there's no tellin' wot 'e'd do if it came down to yer life or 'is. There's nothin' like 'avin' one's _own_ life on the line ter make one capable of doin' that little bit extra. Wonderful motivator it is."

"All I can say is that you'd better have that antidote," Carl answered grimly, his normally inoffensive blue eyes now filled with a resolve that made the dwarf check and frown. "If you let him die because of your mistake, I guarantee you, your guilty conscience won't be enough to save you."

"Fair enough, mate. Fair enough."

The time passed quietly after that, neither faction being inclined to speak with the other. All around them, the wood creaked and swayed; birdsong, absent for so long in the face of the activity in the small clearing, now resumed. The normality of the setting served to calm everyone's nerves to some degree, though Carl remained anxious as first one hour and then two passed with the hunter showing no signs of reviving. The sun was well on its way toward the horizon before Van Helsing at last stirred, groaning slightly as he rolled over on the ground and rose onto his elbows, his head resting in his hands. He didn't look up when he spoke, but there was no doubt as to who he addressed.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Vermin straightened up on his log, his snapping brown eyes on the supine man. "I'll give you two. First, you'll want to get that antidote from me at some point. I made that brew meself, and only I know the cure for it. Second, you don't kill innocents. The old man isn't the only one readin' up on you."

"_Innocents_!" Van Helsing barked explosively and suddenly lunged up to his knees, his hands burying themselves in Vermin's shirt and vest so that he held the little man suspended over the log. Peter jumped to his feet, reached for his friend, then fell back, plainly unsure what to do.

Vermin's ruddy face had drained to a pasty hue, his eyes had rounded so that the whites were completely visible all the way around. He held perfectly still in the hunter's grasp. Seconds passed in the glen, where only the sound of the dwarf's wheezing breath could be heard over the rustling of the leaves. And then Van Helsing thrust the dwarf from him. Falling back onto his hip, the hunter dug the heels of both hands into his temples, viciously rubbing at them.

"How do you expect me to fight that wolf like this?"

Vermin had tumbled backward over the log, rolling head over heels until he fetched up in a bush. He bounced to his feet almost immediately, angrily swiping at the hands that reached to help him. Stomping back to the log, he planted both fists on it, leaning over to snarl at the hunter.

"I don't care 'ow you do it! Do wot ever it takes! But make no mistake, mate, that stuff will kill you unless you get the antidote so wot ever you do, make bloody certain _you don't kill me friend_!" The last was shouted and Vermin remained leaning over the log, his red face thrust forward as Van Helsing lifted his head to meet the dwarf's bulging eyes. An odd look came into the hazel gaze as Van Helsing considered the dwarf, and then he nodded.

"All right. I'll do everything I can to keep your friend safe. I swear it."

Like a balloon that's been pricked, all the ferocity and bravado drained out of Vermin and the little man abruptly slumped down onto the log, his elbows on his knees.

"Yer too bloody much trouble, mate. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Van Helsing sighed as he looked about at Carl, one side of his mouth quirking. "It's been mentioned, now and again."

* * *

3:45 p.m. 

The circus people took their leave and Carl and Van Helsing were left to their own devices, finally. There were scarcely two hours of daylight left, leaving the hunter and friar no choice but to set up their capture site where they stood. It was far from ideal for such purposes—the bracken, shrubs and close press of trees made too many fronts for the wolf to come at them. Additionally, they were very close to the circus, which meant that if the mercenaries they had met earlier thought to return there for any reason, they stood a very good chance of walking right through the trap. The other option, however, of trying to scout a more suitable site in the fading daylight in unfamiliar woods, with the hunter in the shape he was in, was even less desirable.

Their first act was to dig a pit. It was scarcely four feet deep, but covered with leaves and bracken from the ground about them, it was the best they could do. In the pit, they left the bundle of herbs. Carl had taken a whiff of it and immediately regretted it as his sinuses abruptly slammed closed, leaving him with a running nose, itchy eyes, a pounding headache and an urgent wish that he had never thought of sniffing the damned thing. Still, they were both now assured that the sachet had lost none of its potency.

Van Helsing took his place on the side of the clearing that he believed the wolf would choose. Carl took the opposite side. Both men were armed with blow pipes and a dart apiece. Van Helsing had also pressed one of his pistols into Carl's hands, overriding the friar's objections decidedly. In the end, Carl took the gun, but decided in his own mind that nothing would induce him to use it except for an emergency.

In the final fading moments of daylight, they took their places and settled down to wait.

* * *

5:30 p.m. 

_Fast! Faster! There were noises of the men following him, driving himonward! Behind him, the Other One followed, always followed, faster and faster!_

_And then he broke out of the woods and into a small clearing and the scent hit him at the same time that the moon's rays seized his mind and soul. The woods were alive, everywhere there were men and shouts and noise. The Other One leapt on one of them, showing him how it was done. He saw the Other One's jaws sink into the shoulder of the tall dark man, heard the man's shouts, saw him fight free, then fire at the Other One. Then he saw, coming toward him at a run, another man. This one was smaller, light haired. _

_He leapt, bowling the new man over and over, snapping like the Other One had shown him, and felt the wolf within him howl at the crunch of bone and the incredible rich crimson flood that filled his mouth, making every hair on his body rise. They fell to the ground, him still gnawing, lost in his kill, the man beneath him writhing, fighting him, trying to fight clear. There would be no reprieve. The wolf was in full possession of his faculties, filling him with wonderful all consuming power. He would feed tonight! There would be no more hunger, there would be blood and meat and pain tonight!_

_**Pain**! He was flung, howling in one direction as white hot metal tore through his thigh while he saw his prey roll helplessly in the other direction, to roll onto a mat of leaves and then to mysteriously disappear. He was angry now. Snarling, he rose to his feet and charged at the other man. The dark one, now standing, raising something to his face. A flash of light erupted from the trees behind the dark man and another lance of pain seized him, tearing through his chest and into his heart to sending him spiraling down into the crimson tide that still filled his mouth with the taste of his prey. He crashed, hard, into the dark man, sending them both to the ground._

_The pain began to recede as he lay upon the leafy loam. His fading eyesight was the first sign of the wolf leaving him. He could see it, peeling off him like old clothing no one wanted any more. It left him horribly naked and vulnerable, but even that worry passed too as he became aware of the cold that was gnawing its way into his body. He cried out, but didn't hear himself. His limbs, this voice, even his eyes didn't obey him any longer. _

_He couldn't close his eyes as a black haze filled the clearing. It frightened him. His world narrowed, shrank around him, pressing the breath from his lungs until the last one rattled away into nothing. Before the darkness took him, his last sight was the dark man, lying only inches away._

_The Other One crouched trembling in the bushes. There was bad hurt in her body and the pain made her want to howl and weep, but there were men here. Too many to risk fighting. The One lay upon the ground now, his eyes open to the night, his mouth open and breathless. The One was different now, his skin was pale and hairless, useless in the forest. The scent of the wolf was still there, but the beast that had lived in those eyes was long gone. Later, the Other One would mourn. Now she lay, quiet, breathing shallow, trying to still the tremors that wracked her body as the men came into the clearing--came for the One and the man beside him._

_

* * *

_

6:00 p.m.

The mercenary leader knelt beside the two bodies, checking first one and then the other before calling back to his men who had emerged from the forest with him.

"The wolf's dead. Looks like our bullets got him. Van Helsing's still alive—and it looks like the wolf got him."

"We don't get the reward if the damned wolf is dead," one of the men growled, angrily kicking the pale naked corpse that lay at their feet. His booted foot made an ugly thudding noise and the corpse rolled slightly, until the still face was pressed into the cold wet leaves and rich black loam beneath.

The leader frowned down at the corpse thoughtfully, all of his plans and ambitions staring him in the face as they died the same ugly death. Looking at them he realized that he had done a great many things that were distasteful to bring himself to this place. Far too many. Certainly too many to stop now.

"We don't need him," he grated as he pivoted on the balls of his feet, still crouching, to look down on Van Helsing's sprawled body. "Mr. Charles said he wanted a wolf. We'll take him the body of the old one...and give him a new one in its place."

"Van Helsing?" the other man breathed, looking shocked.

The leader shrugged and rose to stand. "Why not? He's been bitten by the wolf. He's not a monster hunter any longer—he's the thing he's hunted all these years. And after all, one wolf is as good as another--but a wolf that used to hunt wolves? Mr. Charles might feel like paying extra for that."

* * *

7:30 p.m. 

_The Other One watched from cover as the men packed up the body of the One and the fallen man and left the glen. It took a long time to summon the courage to creep from the small cover out into the blood scented clearing. The pain was constant, but also less now. The Other One could think now._

_Nosing through the leaves, she gave into mourning, and howled over the death of the One to the moon above._

_A noise! _

_The Other One slunk low, laid low to the ground, and listened, ready to run. The noise came again. A faint moan._

_Carefully, slowly, crawling with belly barely skimming the leaves, she followed the sound to a shallow pit. Nosing the leaves, the Other One was suddenly assailed by a scent, rich and warm and familiar. With a moan, the Other One slid into the pit to find the body within._

_The body was frightening at first—it was different, strange, but surrounding it and overlaying the difference was that familiar scent of the One. And over that, the hot smell of blood._

_The Other One crept on her belly, shuffling forward, wet nose twitching furiously, until she could nose the body. There was no movement, no noise._

_Trembling, and utterly exhausted, the Other One at last gave way and lay upon the ground, her muzzle dropping to the mangled shoulder of the blond man where the smell of the wolf was the strongest and where the warm blood was thickest._

Everything was silent in the glen now. Only the thick red coating of blood on the leaves gave away what had happened. Among them, glinting in the moonlight, lay a broken blow pipe, and a long sleek black dart, intact. A breeze whipped up the leaves above, stirring them and causing new ones to drop to obscure the ground below, hiding the blood and the dart.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new wolf emerges

Notes:

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsings time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

Thank you very much to Toto3, Chibi Kaz and Runts Gal. Whuf! I hope you enjoy this new chapter—I have a feeling you will!

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**BROTHER WOLF 4**

Van Helsing's first awareness was of motion--a rolling from side to side when he wasn't being bounced up and down. Hard upon this came pain, grinding unmercifully from his shoulder, down his arm to throb within his sprained wrist and hand. He stifled the groan that surged up into his throat like bile, swallowing hard. When he had control of it, he opened his eyes.

At first, all he saw was straw and weeds and scattered brown leaves. He seemed to be lying flat out on his face in a bed of it. His nose twitched with disgust as he realized the bed reeked of animal excrement, hair and sweat. But more than the smell, it was the motion that drove him to lift his shoulders until he could balance on his uninjured elbow. The movement made him dizzy and a little sick, but it was the sight that met his gaze that really made his stomach churn.

He was in a cage. More specifically, in a wagon with bars on it and grey planks of wood tacked up over the outside of the bars. He could easily see through the cracks between the warped planks—the wagon was moving, slowly, methodically, over a rutted path. Beyond the path were yellow fields of waving weeds. And none of it looked familiar.

His gaze darted about the wagon he rode in, noting the four barred sides and the dismaying sight of a heavy locked door at the end. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to realize he was in the same caged wagon he had seen behind Charles in the dark tent earlier—most likely, the same wagon that had hosted the man's son.

Gritting his teeth in a snarl, the hunter rolled up onto his hip, pulling his long legs about only to discover that one of his ankles was manacled, a very short chain extended from the cuff to the wagon floor where it was attached to a bolted metal plate. Not only was he caged, he was tethered.

He was still clothed, though he was missing his hat, coat, vestand boots. He supposed he should be grateful that Charles allowed him the dignity of at least temporarily appearing to be something other than an animal.

Carefully, Van Helsing examined his mauled shoulder, ripping his sweater's sleeve and shoulder away to expose the wound. No effort had been made by his captor to clean it. He supposed Charles didn't want to risk a little soap and water diluting the venom in the werewolf's bite. Grimly, he imagined Charles' delight at the idea of exhibiting the infamous murderer Van Helsing by day and the wolf he turned into by night for the paying crowds. He wondered who the Order would send to dispatch their former premier hunter when word got to Rome.

Thinking of Rome made him close his eyes and bow his head as unbidden images of Carl being savaged by the other werewolf came to mind. He'd tried to stop it—he'd shot the wolf as it rolled about with Carl on the ground. He hadn't aimed for the heart, maybe that's where he went wrong. When it dropped Carl and came for him, he had tried to dart it, but the arrival of the mercenary hunters with their hair triggers had put an end to that. He wondered if they had taken both Carl and himself; was Carl even now in another wagon?

Van Helsing remembered that when he fell, he had been holding the blow gun and dart; he'd protected it against breaking until he hit the ground and helplessly passed out. Had the dart been recovered? If so, and if Carl were in one of the other wagons, he'd need to find someway to get the antidote into the friar as quickly as possible. He never thought about using the antidote himself, instead of the friar. He was positive that if Carl were restored to full human status, the friar would eventually find a way to cure him as well. It was the only way they both could survive.

Squinting out through the narrow chinks in the wooden siding, he estimated that it was midafternoon. He didn't have much time.

"Charles! I want to talk!"

His shouts didn't appear to have any affect. He ground his teeth in frustration and looked about for something to bash against the bars to create more noise when suddenly the wagon jolted, shuddered, and drew to a reluctant stop. There were voices now, approaching outside. He recognized Vermin's cockney and realized the little man must know his 'mate' had been killed. Somehow he doubted the mercenaries had told the truth about who had done the killing so the dwarf would have little reason to love him. If Vermin was telling the truth about the poison he'd used, then Charles' dreams of displaying him might be due for a nasty let down. He fingered the shallow cut about the base of his throat. It was itchy but it didn't feel inflamed or swollen. Had Vermin given him the antidote? Why would he?

The voices stopped outside, he could see them shifting about—Peter, the dwarf, and Charles. Awkwardly due to the short length of chain about his ankle, Van Helsing rose to his feet.

One of the planks of wood was pulled aside, apparently folding back on metal hinges, allowing him to see his captors clearly. He almost wished he couldn't. His eyes narrowed as he took in the circus owner's smug pleasure.

"I'm delighted to see you have awakened," Charles said, his gaze skimming over the hunter's body with a proprietary interest that made Van Helsing's hackles rise. "I apologize for your rude awakening, but I trust you'll understand that our accommodations are limited. Especially for someone in your unique position."

"You're being unnecessarily coy," the hunter growled. "And I doubt you're too concerned with my 'accommodations' suiting me or not."

Charles shrugged easily as he curled gloved fingers about one of the bars of the cage. "I realize that it might seem that way to you, at first. Allow me to assure you that quite the opposite is true. You represent a sizeable investment—one I am ill-equipped to lose through carelessness or neglect. It behooves me to keep you in as fine a physical shape as possible. The better you look, the more customers will pay to see you. So you see, I _am_ disposed to give a great deal of weight to your wellbeing. For instance, we have traveled a long way; you must be hungry and thirsty. Vermin?"

Van Helsing's gaze dropped for the first time to the dwarf. He wasn't surprised at the malevolency of the return gaze. Easily, the dwarf released a small section of the bars that were jointed to form a narrow slot. Evidently this slot was normally used to safely deliver food to the cage's occupant. A plate of meat was shoved violently through, causing the contents to scatter into the fetid straw.

"Vermin." Charles' reproof was quietly given but it made the little man grow still and wary. "I know that you heard what I said to him—I meant it. You'll make another plate for him immediately. Make certain that he has as much to eat and drink as he desires. And get Peter to clean the cage. I don't want the stink of soiled bedding to put the customers off."

"Yes sir," Vermin grunted, rolling his eyes up at the man in a manner that was both ingratiating and insolent at the same time. Charles evidently took no note of it. With one last pleased look at his captive, he left the dwarf and giant to their tasks.

The dwarf's eyes followed Charles' back until he disappeared from sight, and then slid up to view Van Helsing.

"Let's get one thing straight, mate," the little man hissed. "I don't give a rat's arse if ya rot in this cage fer the rest of yer stinkin' days or if ya off yerself chokin' on a gobbet of raw meat. I'll do wot I 'ave ter do ter keep Charles off me back. That's all. But I suggest ya keep yer gob shut and don't give me any trouble. I'm not disposed kindly toward ya right now and I might forget 'ow much I 'ate ya and dose yer meat wiv arsenic or worse. Got it?"

The hunter made no reply, only nodded, once.

Vermin nodded shortly. "Good on ya, mate. Yer learnin'."

With that the dwarf stomped away, presumably to prepare another plate of food.

He was left alone with Peter. The giant did not speak nor did he meet Van Helsing's eyes. Quietly, he set about swinging back the wooden panels in accordion folds, opening the cage to the fields and sunlight. When he'd opened one complete side, he moved to the front of the cage to retrieve a long-handled push broom; hugging it to himself, he returned to the side of the cage. Neatly, he turned and slotted the broom between the bars. Van Helsing's hope that the door might actually be opened was obviously doomed to disappointment. He watched the giant carefully push the dirty straw to the opposite side of the cage, allowing it to pile up against the bars. Each stroke was painstakingly done so that not a leaf or wisp was left behind. Then the giant removed the broom, moved one pace down, reinserted the broom and repeated the same motions.

"Peter." Van Helsing waited until the giant's eyes rose reluctantly to his own. "I'm sorry about Devon. I didn't kill him, the other hunters did. I did my best."

The giant blinked several times, but he didn't speak. He continued to sweep the cage, but the strokes of the broom were much slower and he had a thoughtful air.

Vermin reappeared into view, trudging through the stopped wagons holding a platter piled high with meat. Van Helsing could smell the barely cooked greasy odor of it and swallowed hard against the rush of bile at the back of his throat. A feeling of being watched made his eyes drop to the giant again. Peter's methodical sweeping had stopped; he was watching the hunter now with a thoughtful intentness that made Van Helsing's dark brow rise in puzzlement.

"Peter? You understand what's going to happen, don't you? When night falls?"

The giant's thin mouth grew even thinner as he grimaced, but he nodded his reply.

"Can you tell me, is Carl here? Did they bring Carl back as well?"

Peter looked puzzled and Van Helsing swore quietly to himself as he hastened to explain. He suspected Peter's willingness to talk would decrease markedly with Vermin's return.

"Carl…the blond man that was with me? He was bitten by Devon. Another wolf bit me. There were two werewolves last night, not just Devon. I killed the other wolf, not Devon."

Peter's mouth dropped open, his eyes rounded as he suddenly pressed up against the cage, the broom dropped forgotten from his hands as he gripped the bars.

"They didn't tell you about that?" Van Helsing guessed grimly. "Did they bring Carl here as well?"

Peter had an instant to shake his head in a firm 'no' before an angry voice drove him back from the bars.

"'ere you! Peter, get away from 'im!"

Vermin hurried to the confused giant's side, setting the meat down on the ground in favor of catching Peter's arms hard in his hands. "Don't go near 'im from now on, ya 'ear me? 'E's dangerous! Especially now!"

"Vermin!" Van Helsing lunged at the bars, but was unable to reach them. The dwarf was placed far enough toward the back of the cage so that his fingertips only grazed the metal barrier. It was enough, though,to make both giant and dwarf fall back with large round eyes. "Tell me about Carl! Where is he?"

"I…I don' know," the dwarf stuttered, eyeing Van Helsing as if he were a lunatic.

"You're sure? You're sure he wasn't brought back? Was he with the other hunters? Maybe they had a cloak over him?"

"No no, I'm sure. Calm down, mate!"

Abruptly, Van Helsing's legs folded, dumping him on the newly cleaned cage floor. "Then he's out there," he muttered resignedly. "He's been bitten, by Devon, and he's out there by himself."

"'E was bitten?" Vermin's horrified whisper brought the hunter's eyes gaze up.

"Devon bit him. I was bitten by the other wolf. I killed that one, the other hunters killed Devon."

"Yer lyin' to save yer own skin!" Vermin growled. Beside the dwarf, the giant stirred to life, catching the little man's shoulder roughly. When Vermin looked up, surprised, Peter shook his head vehemently. The dwarf shook his own head, angrily pushing Peter's hands aside as he backed away from Van Helsing and the giant. "Wot are ya sayin', Peter? Yer not believin' this lyin' sack a..."

Peter didn't allow him to finish. One long arm reached out and easily snagged the dwarf, dragging him up to the bars as the giant inserted the other arm into the cage.

"'Ere! Stop that ya bleatin' idiot!"

The giant ignored his friend. Delicately, a long dirty finger extended to touch Van Helsing's chest and then moved up to the long cut at the base of his throat, tapping it slightly.

"Yeah? So wot? I gave 'im the antidote," Vermin snarled. "Best punishment I could give 'im for lyin' is to make 'im live 'is days out in this cage."

"He's not asking about the antidote," Van Helsing snarled back. A portion of his mind noted and was duly grateful that the antidote _had_ been given. Overall, though, he was finding his patience was not up to the task of pounding sense past the dwarf's rock-hard obstinacy. "You're not stupid, Vermin! Neither am I. He's trying to tell you I wouldn't kill Devon—I knew the only way I'd survive the poison is to bring Devon back alive. _You_ planned it that way."

"'Ow do I know ya didn' panic?"

"You don't," Van Helsing sighed, then shrugged, his hazel eyes rising to capture Vermin's. "But consider the fact that there was more than one hunter out there last night—I was the one with everything to lose and I'm the one now sitting in a cage. The other is riding away free and clear with Charles' money in his pocket. Two hunters, Vermin. Who was more likely to shoot?"

The dwarf's lips puffed in and out several times as he listened to Van Helsing. The hunter could see the other was dying to say something, _anything_, which would leave Van Helsing at fault for the death of his friend. He also saw when the dwarf at last gave up the fight. It wasn't that he considered Van Helsing innocent, rather he thought the other hunter guiltier.

"Damn." Vermin gave the wagon a tremendous kick with his hobnailed boot. His gaze upon Van Helsing was, if possible, even less fond than it had been before. "Yer trouble, mate. I said it before and I wasn't wrong. Damn!"

"Vermin, I don't have time for your sulking," Van Helsing growled, his eyes rising to the darkening sky meaningfully. "I had the dart with the antidote in it with me when I lost consciousness. Did they bring it when they brought me?"

"'Ow the 'ell should I know?" the little man muttered, then quickly held up his hands to forestall the angry words he saw in both Peter's and Van Helsing's faces. "I know, I know! Go look! Fine! S'not like I 'aven't done a bit of light fingerin' from Charles' pockets before. If 'e's got it, it's in 'is tent. Just sit tight and wait."

"I hadn't planned on going anywhere," the hunter said dryly as he eyed the cage's bars and the gathering twilight beyond.

* * *

Carl was at once cold and hot at one and the same time. It made no sense, but he couldn't make his whirling brain concentrate enough to figure it out. No sooner would his mind settle on one thought than it skittered away and was replaced with another. He felt he was going insane. Desperately, he forced himself to concentrate on one thing, just one--to open his eyes. He very badly wanted to open his eyes. Something was horribly wrong and if he could just open his eyes he felt sure that he could probably outrun it. 

Horribly slowly, his eyes began to answer his mental commands to open. He was surprised he didn't hear the groaning torturous squeal of their ascension; his lids felt as if they were trying to lift solid lead weights.

The darkness that lived behind his lids was slowly replaced with the darkness that waited outside of them. It was _very_ dark. He wanted to wave his hand in front of his face, but he was very afraid that something was in the darkness with him and was just waiting for a sign that he was awake before eating him. He wanted very much to put that off for as long as possible—possibly even longer.

He'd managed to crank his eyelids open half way when he became aware of a moist heat, rhythmically blowing into his left ear.

"_Eep_!" The tiny exhalation of horrified air caused all the color to drain from his face and a sweat to pop out on his forehead. At his shoulder, _something_ stirred and the tremendous heat lifted off his body. Carl prayed he'd faint, ordered his body to do so, even begged God for it but he remained horrifically aware as a huge _something_ arose from his side. It was darker than the darkness that pressed all around him and to his staring eyes it was huge. Slowly it rose; its fetid breath puffed over his face and made his hair flutter on his sweating brow. He cursed that small traitorous movement as he held himself rigidly still.

The shadow rose and grew larger with every second. And then it dropped its head toward his and a long thick wet weight draped itself about his throat, sliding over his windpipe and jugular.

Carl screamed. He tried to hold it in but it bubbled out of him in an unstoppable wave. And with the scream his body was released from its stasis and into convulsive movement upwards. Carl launched himself from the shallow pit to fall scrambling to the ground. He knew where he was—the woods where he and Van Helsing had set the trap for the wolf. He knew what time it was—apparently fast approaching night judging by the blue light of fading twilight. And he was horrified to realize he knew what would come out of the pit.

Like a dark sensuous shadow, the werewolf emerged from the pit, sliding free of the branches and leaves to rise higher and higher over the friar lying on the ground. Carl's mouth fell open in a soundless scream as yellow eyes flamed into his and the wolf's large brown muzzle opened to release a long red tongue to lick its lips.

Scrabbling backward over the fallen leaves and wet earth, Carl became aware of stickiness. Helpless to resist, he raised his sticky hand to his eyes and saw the blood thickly smeared on it, dripping down his wrist and then onto the forest floor. No sound came from his frantically working throat, it had closed almost completely.

The wolf's muzzle dipped, coming closer to the frozen staring friar; the long red tongue emerged again and lapped at Carl's bloody hand. It was hot, and wet, and he was certain that he was going to be violently sick.

The wolf cleaned his hand absolutely spotless, and then turned her attention to his shoulder.

"No...no," Carl whispered, shaking his head slightly as the wolf pawed at his robe, her long fingers uncurling to grip and tear the material away from his chest. "Oh my God," he whimpered as the brown muzzle descended and the tongue lapped at his bloody wound.

With a groan, the wolf's body subsided over Carl's until her colossal weight pinned him to the ground. And always, the long red tongue continued to lave his shoulder, neck and chest.

Carl's eyes slammed shut, he wanted to shudder as the tongue slid over his chest, his nipples, almost caressingly. The werewolf appeared to be _grooming_ him. And the only thing that Carl's mind would formulate was a single question, over and over again. _Why?_

With every slurp of that tongue against his wound, he imagined quantities of the werewolf toxin entering his body. He could smell the wolf scent on his own skin, a thick and heavy musk that made him want to wheeze. It was the thought of that musk that finally suggested to him the answer to his question of why. What he was smelling was the scent of the other wolf-Devon. The wolf who lay on him now, grooming him, was a female. He was certain of that, though he couldn't have said why. She was reacting to Devon's scent on him. Which had to mean Devon was dead. Which meant Van Helsing had killed the other werewolf. Which meant...

Without thinking, Carl's hands flew to the wolf over him and shoved hard at her. Her body barely moved, but her great head lifted to look down at him in confusion.

"_Ngh_! Get...off...me!" he panted and shoved again.

She was loath to do so, it was obvious that she derived pleasure and comfort from being in contact with him, but his continuing efforts to push her off eventually caused her to rise unsteadily to stand swaying over him. That's when he saw the wound in her chest. It was off center so it hadn't killed her, but judging by the amount of blood she'd lost it was only a matter of time. A part of him mourned the young woman who was this wolf's true self in the daylight. But a larger part felt relief that she was wounded and therefore disoriented and slower than she might normally be.

As she lifted off him, Carl dug his elbows into the soft earth and slid out from under her body. He was covered, front and back, with blood. He urgently wanted to retch, but even more urgently he wanted to find Van Helsing. He had no memory of the other hunters; he had fallen into the pit before they had arrived. To his mind, if Devon was dead, then Van Helsing was at the mercy of the poison Vermin had infected him with.

Scrabbling back, Carl crabbed away from the wolf until he could sit and then slowly, warily, rise to his feet. The werewolf rose as well and he gulped spasmodically as she towered over him. One attenuated hand reached out, then, to touch his muddy cheek caressingly.

"No," Carl breathed, shaking his head as he backed away, wincing as each step jarred his wounded shoulder agonizingly. He caught at his injured arm, pulling it to his waist, cradling it against his chilled naked skin as he continued to back up until several feet were between them. Only then did he take the chance to look about himself, searching the rapidly darkening glen for the hunter. There were quantities of evidence of the carnage that had taken place, but of the hunter and Devon there were no signs.

He searched painstakingly, always believing he'd find the other man momentarily. Instead, he found the unmistakable evidence of horses and many men. It didn't take a genius to figure out then what had happened.

"They've taken Van Helsing and Devon to the circus," he whispered, his blue eyes wide and frightened. "It looks like, from all the blood, that they killed Devon. They would have taken them both back—Charles would take Van Helsing in Devon's place if he thought Van Helsing were infected. My God, he probably is."

A hot puff of air alerted him that the female wolf had tired of his senseless mutterings. He whirled about to find himself staring at her gory wound as a large hand curled about his head, tugging invitingly at him. She wanted him to groom her wound, to take the pain from her.

Carl had been fighting his gag reflex for sometime. In the face of such expectations his stomach gave up the ghost. Shoving hard away from her, he whirled to throw up the meager contents of his stomach violently.

The female backed away, her growling insufflations held a frustrated note. When Carl's retching subsided to dry heaves, he staggered a few paces away from the mess and then fell to his knees.

He was alone. He was infected with lycanthropy. And he was at the mercy of another werewolf who obviously was prepared to think of him as her mate.

As if on cue, he felt a cold shiver as claws delicately stroked over his back, ripping his robe away to bare his skin to the night air and the rising moon. Carl gasped as white hot needles pierced him, tearing his mind and body to pieces. He threw back his head in an ululating howl as the moon's white fingers caressed the wolf within him for the first time.

It was too much! It was agony and a horrible thrilling ecstasy at the same time. He shuddered beneath his lunar lover's hands and felt his body seized in the grip of helpless pleasure. Effortlessly, he stretched into it and felt the thin veneer of humanity sheer away, allowing his wolf to emerge.

A white wolf stretched out, shaking his head, inflating a massive chest for the first time as blue eyes opened to the sky and he howled an undying allegiance to the moon.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Van Helsing felt the moment when the moon's rays cleared the horizon. He shuddered as he felt the insidious pull of its light, felt the first shivering pleasure of the wolf.

He threw himself back from the open bars, seeking the deepest shadows and despairing as even there he felt the pull of the night.

Sliding footsteps announced Vermin's return but he couldn't raise his eyes to look at the dwarf. He was shuddering now, his skin felt stretched, so tight it was agony.

"Damnit!" He heard the expletive spat out in the dwarf's thick accents, and then abruptly a lance of pain as the dart containing the antidote was thrust into his hunched shoulders.

He howled in agony and denial as ice filled his veins, his lungs, and his mind. His shivering now was titanic; he fell to his side in convulsions that whipped his head backwards until it almost touched his back. His body was strained in an unnatural arch and he heard bones groan, on the verge of breaking.

And then there were hands, seizing him, pulling his straight and then forward into hard bars and a huge body.

"'Ave you gone nuts? The man's a werewolf! Let 'im go!"

The hands still pulled at him, they wouldn't let him tear himself apart. They held him still throughout his convulsions until his body suddenly went limp. Then they laid him down and wiped the thick red foam from his lips. He couldn't move, unable to acknowledge the debt he owed to those hands as he sensed the moon's light upon him as a cool touch, but nothing more.

There were voices coming now, and the hands disappeared. He heard Charles' voice, ordering the others away. When all was silent, he heard the other man approach.

"It's night at last, the moon is up. It is time for your appointment with your fate, my friend," Charles murmured from the bars. "Tonight, you will undergo your first metamorphosis. I could have opened the show tonight, but I felt your first change should be kept between you and I. Tonight will be your first time; it should be private, between us alone."

Van Helsing's long fingers curled into fists in the remaining dirty straw. Slowly, he rolled up onto his elbows as his fingers fumbled at his naked shoulder. The antidote that he had meant for Carl was now coursing through his veins. The wound on his shoulder from the werewolf's bite was gone.

He raised his head then to look at the man who was waiting to see him become the beast for him.

And smiled.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new wolf emerges

**Notes: Many thanks to Chibi-Kaz for pointing out the need to make it clearer that Van Helsing received the antidote in the last chapter. I did a rewrite of the scene immediately. Also thanks to Rayannaenthallia for reminding me about the midnight limitations of the antidote (I'll go into more depth about this in my next chapter!). And finally, but by no means least, Seadragon 68 who, with Chibi, questions how werewolves act with one another. I hope this chapter has started to answer that.**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

Thank you very much to Ryannaenthallia, Chibi-Kaz, Toto3, and Seadragon 68 for your reviews and suggestions. I took them to heart!

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 5**

He stretched luxuriously, feeling each muscle extend in a rippling motion that caused intense excitement and absolute pleasure. The freedom and power of it was amazingly intoxicating; he wallowed in it, giving himself completely over to the wanton primal sensation.

Beside and slightly behind him, he could feel and hear the Other One. He could smell her now, her sex, her eagerness, her pain. There was a part of him that recognized a need for her, an instinct for bonding. It was a wolf's instinct to pack, he was no different. Except...he _**was**_ different and that difference kept him distant. Frustrated now, and angry that his first pleasure at his new found power should be tainted, he sniffed the air trying to work out what it was that was making him restless.

On the light varying breezes that caressed his senses he caught it. There! That elusive, familiar scent. He followed it, turning, questing for it as it brought him to the waiting female. But the scent didn't belong to the female. It simply overlaid her coat. She shivered and submitted to his intrusive examination of her, sinking low beneath his questing nose until her belly touched the ground. An unwelcome part of him noted this with interest. The larger, primal instinct that now guided him expected nothing less.

As he shoved his nose into her fur, nosing her all over, the scent came to him strongly. There was another One. His scent lay throughout the brown and tan strands of her fur. The scent of the other One should have infuriated him as a challenge to his dominance but he found small eager whimpers escaping him as he investigated it. This scent was important to him for some reason.

The female was stirring now, frustrated at his long inspection that yielded her nothing, she wanted to rise. Easily, he chastised her, savagely cuffing her head with one large hand so that she was knocked flat to the ground. She alternately growled and whimpered, but she accepted his law. Once she settled down, he rewarded her by nuzzling and then licking her and she shivered and whimpered again, this time with pleasure.

It was evident that she had chosen him. He was willing to accept her as well, but something kept him from taking her. It was the scent. It was important. It wouldn't let him rest.

Frustrated himself now, he backed away from her and lifted his muzzle to the wind, drawing in deep lungsful. The glen contained a conflicting miasma of sharp and more subtle scents. It took some sorting, and his soft lips peeled back over long white fangs in response to the overwhelming olfactory barrage. There was blood first, then the scent of frightened horses. Beneath that he scented men, the tang of their unwashed bodies and the deeper jolt of their oily excitement being exuded from their pores. Beneath that layer, he found the First One. He realized now what had eluded him before. The First One had been with the female before. She had been taken by him; he had been her first mate. Unbidden and unwelcome, the image of the other wolf came to mind with a word...

_Devon_.

The First One, Devon, had been killed by the men, but not before he had sunk his fangs into...into...

The white wolf blinked, a low keening growl causing his lips to flutter slightly so that he licked them. He had memories that had no place in who he was now but they couldn't be ignored. He didn't want them, but they were inescapable. And with the memories of a softer, frailer form that had been his came the vision of another, a dark-haired man. _That_ was the soft subtle undertow within the scent of the female's body, the scent that kept pulling him back. She had also had contact with that man. His scent was plain now that it had been identified. She had attacked him, he could see it in his memories. She had made him one of them.

The first instinct of a wolf is to pack. The first instinct of werewolves is to eat followed by the need to create more like themselves. Whether she had attacked the man for the first or for the second reason didn't matter now. He was one of them, one of the pack. His scent, his memories, his link was inescapable. He and the man had been together Before the female, long before. He remembered a word now, uttered in the incomprehensible tongue of man that had meant a great deal to him Before.

_Carl_.

The harsh sound of it didn't fit on his tongue well. It was a man's word, not a wolf's. But it was still important. And he knew what he needed to do. He needed to locate the rest of his pack. The other One had been taken by the men. He would find him. He needed to find him, the one that had been called...

_Gabriel_.

* * *

_**SNAP**_

The sound of the whip carried through the encamped circus like an electric current, making everyone in it flinch and curl into themselves. Charles had started with Vermin in punishment for his part in curing the hunter--the little man's cries had been loud and full of anger and hatred. Then the new man had tried to interfere, his scorn and anger had drawn the lash to himself. Now the lash fell on his back and his pained grunts and stifled moans made the hair on the listeners' necks rise.

_**SNAP**_

Vermin lay on the ground beside the wheel of the caged wagon and shivered with each lash of the whip against the man inside. His bleeding torn flesh was agony but his confusion was even more painful. He'd been whipped before; Charles was not a stranger to cruelty. He was selective over who he subjected to it, but Vermin had always been his favorite, since he had been a small twisted boy who had been abandoned by the side of the road. Beyond a handful of dark watery half images of an earlier life, Vermin had never known anything else except the circus and Charles' ways. He'd fallen beneath the lash often and each time had endured it to the end, until Charles tired of swinging it. He had never expected nor received mercy--until now.

Van Helsing had protested his beating and was now taking it for him. Why? The man should hate the sight of Vermin. Why had he interfered?

Charles was growing tired; Vermin could hear it in his ragged breathing. He was still angry, his grand schemes had been thwarted and that had been enough to throw him out of his carefully cultivated personae into the monster that lurked just beneath the surface. Exhaustion was the only thing that quelled the monster, the only thing that kept them all safe.

With a grunted oath, Charles dropped the whip and sank to his knees on the bloody ground outside of the open cage door. His breath came in jagged hoarse gusts that rattled his body; his face was white and running with an oily sweat.

Out of eyesight above them, the cage's occupant was silent. The door hung open but no one moved to close it after Charles fell back from it. The man inside would be in no shape to escape and the cuff about his ankle would have made short work of an attempt in any case.

"C...c...clean...him...up..." Charles panted, jerking his head at the wagon. Then he dragged himself to his feet, turning to take the assisting arm of a waiting clown with practiced ease. This scene had played out often enough; everyone knew their parts regardless of the fact there were two victims this time instead of only one.

Clarie, the bare back rider, hurried to Vermin's side with a bucket of water and a soft cloth. This was the first time she had tended the dwarf, usually Peter took care of his friend. But Peter was now inside the wagon, tending to Van Helsing. She didn't know what to make of the switch in the giant's allegiances; it frightened her, but she found comfort in taking on his familiar task to herself.

She urged Vermin to lay flat upon his belly on the splattered ground, with his head in her lap, as she gently sponged the blood from his torn back. Above her, in the wagon, she heard the same thing happening as Peter tended the hunter.

They had all been afraid of the hunter, they still were. He represented something that made them feel...dirty, wrong, ashamed at how he saw them. Yet now, with Charles' act of violence, the hunter had become one of them; she found that knowledge somehow allowed her to feel cleaner within herself. The hunter had brought a form of redemption with him. Maybe that was what had driven Peter into the wagon? From all about the camp, the others were drawing near. Usually, they kept a distance from Vermin after one of his beatings, giving him back the privacy and self-respect that Charles tried to beat out of him. But this time, it was different; maybe because of Van Helsing, maybe because it was time for a change. This time, they drew close and offered the comfort and belonging that Charles' whip couldn't beat out of them.

In the wagon, Peter sat on the red floor with Van Helsing's head upon his lap. He was very very gentle as he washed the blood from the hunter's back, stroking the cloth carefully about the gaping flesh, urging the fissures shut. He'd have some sewing to do, in a little bit. Now that he was looking at the hunter up close, he could see there had been instances before where he'd had injuries although none as horrific as the two knotted white scars just inside the shoulder blades along either side of his back. They ran parallel to each other and had been crossed many times by newer injuries. By the look of them, they should have killed Van Helsing. Peter wondered at the scars and at the kind of injury that could have created them.

Van Helsing stirred, turning his head on Peter's lap with a grimace and a stifled groan. He'd had worse injuries in the past but that didn't dim the pain of the new ones. He appreciated the care the giant took to be gentle and once again wondered at Peter's history. What had brought these people here? And what kept them with Charles, even in the face of the cruelty he was capable of?

Peter set down the cloth and touched Van Helsing's back, hesitantly. He wanted to sew the deepest gashes shut. Jerkily, Van Helsing nodded.

"Go ahead."

The prick of the needle and the feeling of thread drawing his flesh closed had never ranked high among Van Helsing's favorite sensations and he found this time to be no different--so he forced his mind to concentrate on other things instead. He thought of Carl, alone in the woods. The friar would have, by now, inevitably succumbed to the werewolf venom within his body. The thought of the inoffensive, brilliant friar becoming a primal beast seemed like a horrible blasphemy to him and he shivered with the thought. Peter hesitated above him, obviously believing the tremor that had run through his patient a result of his ministrations. When it didn't repeat, though, he continued his repairs and Van Helsing's thoughts continued as well.

Where would Carl go? Would he stay in the glen? It hardly seemed likely; he was alone, possibly injured. It made sense that first, however horrible the thought, he'd seek food. At best, he'd hunt and kill some other beast; at worst, he'd make his first human kill. And with that kill, he would force the Order and Van Helsing to come for him.

A wave of rage jerked spasmodically through Van Helsing and he snarled as the giant seized his ribs and forced him flat. He wanted to curse, to shout and work his rage on something until it was obliterated. To his mind's eye came the face of the circus' owner and he felt no remorse as he imagined snapping the man's neck like a twig. The man was a monster, irregardless the fact he didn't have claws or fangs. He was evil and evil was something Van Helsing was more than capable of dealing with.

Peter held the hunter firmly, refusing to let up on the pressure about his rib cage until at last, with a snarl, Van Helsing subsided and grew limp and heavy in his lap once again. He finished his sewing quickly, breaking off the thread with the last stitch. He pushed the needle through the lapel of his vest securely; it would remain there until the inevitable time it was needed again. Then, looking down at the hunter's dark head, he hesitantly stroked the shining hair.

Immediately, Van Helsing stirred, gingerly moving to kneel unsteadily on his shins. Peter helped him to remain upright, pushing tangled dark locks from the hunter's face until the hazel eyes rose to his.

"Thank you," the hunter said, offering a smile that quickly became a grimace as he carefully stretched his shoulders.

Peter grimaced as well, and then shrugged ruefully. He wished that he could have offered the hunter something for the pain, but he had nothing. Not even the universal pain relief strong spirits would have provided.

A shuffling sound drew both men's attention to the side of the wagon where Vermin's face appeared. He was pale with great dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze was firm as he looked in at the two.

"Don't know why you did it, mate...but thank you."

Van Helsing nodded, once.

About the wagon, the other performers pressed closer, their gazes both curious and, for the first time, accepting. Van Helsing looked about him, frowning slightly. Something had changed and, while he wasn't sure why, it was obvious that he had gone from being an outsider to being accepted as one of the troupe. He chafed at the realization, feeling a brief surge of resentment at the assumption of obligation to these people without his consent. But looking into their eyes, and then back at Peter's, he found he couldn't deny them. And, if he were honest, they were in far better shape than he was—the sense of obligation obviously extended in both directions and for now he was the one reaping the benefits of it. One dark brow lifted then as a rueful smile came to his lips and he saw it echoed in the faces around him.

A low whistle from the back of the crowd brought the moment of bonding to an immediate halt as the performers drew back, their faces becoming closed and anxious. Peter straightened, the kindness in his face disappearing behind the same anxious mask. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was coming.

Charles appeared at the wagon's side, blinking owlishly at Peter sitting with Van Helsing inside. Then he snorted as his clenched fist rose to display a bottle of whiskey to the two men. It was open and sloshed onto his arm and the wagon floor, filling the air with the sharp stink of rotgut.

"'Ere, give 'im this," he slurred and thrust the bottle through the bars. Van Helsing looked longingly at the arm, imagining with pleasure the sensation of breaking it with a sharp audible _crack_. He couldn't reach Charles from his current position, the leg chain would see to that. But at some point he'd get a chance and he found himself grimly looking forward to it.

Peter leaned over to cautiously take the wavering bottle. Charles had never offered any of them a drink before; he couldn't help but wonder what the catch was now.

"Go 'head," Charles slurred, waving at the hunter. "Star attrract'n...nothin' but the best...ev'n though he stole the wolf from me. Still worth somethin'...more'n anythin' else here. Give 't 't 'im."

Dubiously, Peter turned with the bottle to the hunter, whose lip curled.

"I don't want it."

"Take it!" Charles insisted, leaning forward to press his face to the bars as he peered avidly at Van Helsing. "Too good to take m' first offer...now look where you are, an' yer _still_ too good to drink wi' me?"

The hunter didn't answer, but something in his gaze made Charles shiver and draw back from the bars, anger darkening his features.

"I'll make you drink. Yer not better 'n me. You drink...or..."

Charles' words dropped off, but his gaze slid to Vermin standing tight mouthed and pale to one side.

A feral gleam came to Van Helsing's eyes that made a solemn promise to the other man of retribution, but he reached out and took the bottle from Peter. Raising it to his lips, he downed a hefty swallow before lowering the bottle. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he handed the whiskey back to the giant.

The dark caste to Charles' face was gone; in its place was the doting proprietary look Van Helsing was familiar with and fast coming to loathe.

"There," the circus owner purred, pleased. "S'not so hard, was it? You an' me...partners."

With a lurch, Charles turned and staggered away to his tent, wherein Van Helsing had little doubt he would shortly pass out. His gaze turned back to the giant who cringed slightly, still awkwardly holding the bottle and looking as if he fully expected the hunter's rage to fall on himself. The darkness slipped from the hunter's eyes as he sighed, and then gestured to the dwarf.

"I imagine Vermin could use some of that."

The dwarf's dark brows shot upward in surprise but he was quick to come to the wagon's side and accept the whiskey from the giant. He didn't bother to wipe the bottle's mouth before taking a deep pull from it, his adam's apple bobbing several times before he lowered it with a wheeze and wiped his mouth. Then, with a sly grin, he passed the bottle to Clarie.

As Van Helsing watched, the rot gut made its way from hand to hand. No one drank as deeply as Vermin had, but they all took some part of the amber liquid within until the bottle returned to the wagon. It was all but empty, a mere swallow remaining. The clown that passed it back to the wagon hesitated slightly before reaching inside to hand it directly Van Helsing.

With a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the hunter proffered the bottle to Peter with wry humor.

"Bottom's up," he suggested. He grinned as the giant took the last swallow, upending the bottle as the crowd of performers shouted their approval.

* * *

The woods streamed past Carl in a blur; he'd left the Other One behind sometime ago, her wound slowed her to the point that she couldn't keep up and had at last stopped trying. She would continue to follow, she couldn't do otherwise, but she would come at her own pace. 

The white wolf followed the scent that lingered on the wind. It was mixed now with many other scents, including that of the First One, Devon. Carl was returning to the start of it all, the place his human memories named 'circus'. There he would find the other wolf, like himself newly made.

He had traveled for many miles before he realized that the scent had changed. The One he pursued smelled differently now. The scent of the wolf was still there, but it was subdued, almost non-existent. Something had happened. A growl escaped the white wolf as he redoubled his speed effortlessly. When he found the man, he would find out what had happened to the wolf within him. He had no doubt that the wolf could be resummoned, one way or another.

* * *

Vermin sat in the cage now, with Peter and Van Helsing. The other performers had gradually left them, one at a time, to go to their own beds until only the dwarf and giant remained behind to keep Van Helsing company. 

Peter sat with his back against the bars, placidly watching the dwarf, who lay on his stomach with his ankles crossed and heels dangling over his back. Van Helsing lay on his side, head propped up on one hand. Neither he nor the dwarf were comfortable physically, but there was a comfortableness of spirit between them now that soothed the giant.

"So, all that 'ardware in yer coat...that's the tools of yer trade, as it were?" Vermin asked thoughtfully.

"Yes. A lot of the weapons were made by Carl," Van Helsing added, and a shadow passed briefly through his eyes as he wondered if the friar would ever return to his lab.

"Clever fellow," Vermin approved. "I'm 'andy wiv tools meself, though chemicals are more my game. I can make up a batch of anythin', given the time."

"Anything?" Van Helsing asked, dubiously.

Sensing the challenge, Vermin's thick lips slid sideways into a smirk. "Aye, mate, anythin'. You got somethin' in mind?"

"The antidote Carl made." Watching the dwarf closely, Van Helsing saw the little man's surprise and then his thoughtful expression. "You think you can do it?"

The dwarf shrugged carefully, mindful of his tender back. "Possibly, possibly. I still 'ave the dart we used on you...might be able to take the traces still left in it an' come up wiv somethin'."

"There are darts containing strong sedatives in my coat as well as an extra blow pipe. You could empty the sedative from some of the darts and use the empty casings to carry the antidote. Would you be able to get your hands on them?"

Vermin's naturally shifty features became, if possible, even more so. "Ah...well, to tell you the truth, mate...I already got ahold of 'em. I was lookin' fer the antidote, you understand...an' it just seemed common sense to take 'em all."

"Hmm, no doubt," Van Helsing agreed dryly. "How did you know what was in them?"

"Didn't. The one wiv the antidote was different from the others, I figured it 'ad to be the stuff you were lookin' for. I planned to get around to testin' the others, to figure out wot they were for, later."

"You're very practical, for a thief."

"Thank you," Vermin said easily, without a trace of embarrassment. Almost immediately after, he yawned cavernously. Smacking his lips together, the little man stretched gingerly, and then proceeded to slowly gather himself together until he could climb to his feet. Peter, realizing Vermin's objective, hurriedly rose and went to his friend's aid.

"'Bout time to get to bed," Vermin explained to the hunter, and then gestured to a pile of blankets the circus folk had brought from their own beds to make the cage's occupant more comfortable. "You gonna be all right?"

"I'll do fine. You all right?"

Vermin grinned at the hunter with undaunted pride. "Aye. Not the first nor the last time I'll 'ave me 'ide peeled. I can take it. Good night's sleep, be good as new."

"Good night, then," the hunter said, smiling when the dwarf chuckled. With a wave, the two circus men left the cage, disappearing among the grouped wagons

Van Helsing turned to the stack of blankets. He was finding himself very tired; with hardly the strength to pull one of the blankets free, he maneuvered it partially over himself. Satisfied, he lay his head down upon the rest of the blankets and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He'd spent most of the night pursuing his objective; he was hungry and frustrated and his soft furred lips drew back in a snarl. With the advent of day approaching, he knew that he should stop and find a safe place for rest and to wait for the female to catch up. But the need to find the other One seemed to be unreasonably relentless; he couldn't stop. As a wolf, he lived by his instincts, and they were telling him that he had to go on. He was close now, the scents he had been following were sharp and distinct. Added to their uniqueness he now also smelled blood and it caused his hackles to rise into a stiff pointed ridge. Werewolves packed for community, for food, and for mutual protection. The One he followed had been injured and the white wolf felt a deep anger within himself at that realization. He planned to find and take the One from the humans. Then they would find a place of safety to await the female, where they could weather the dangerous time of their return to soft helpless humanity together. He would make certain, before that soft time came, that the One was returned to the pack, a full wolf once again. 

The ground was trampled and heavily scored by the wagons' wheels; even as a blind, scent-deaf human he could have followed the trail. He slowed his speed, sacrificing time for caution as he carefully emerged from the dew-laden fields onto the road and, for the first time, saw his objective. The wagons were loosely gathered in an encampment. The conveyance he wanted, the one that contained the One, was in the center. He didn't like that, but he had no choice but to accept it.

Padding on all fours, the white wolf slipped through the clustered wagons, his nose twitching as he identified the number and disposition of the occupants within each. They were all deeply asleep, some deeper than others. His nose twitched and he _chuffed_ a quiet sneeze at the stink of copious amounts of whiskey. His softer human memories informed him that he had never liked the stuff and he found that as a wolf he found it particularly offensive.

His soft footfalls upon the dark earth picked up speed as he threaded his way through the wagons and came, at last, in sight of the conveyance containing the One. He broke into a low slung rush toward it, in his eagerness now casting caution to the wind. The wagon's door was open, he made for it.

The man within stirred, his nostrils flared, and abruptly he bolted upright, his hazel eyes tracking without hesitation to the white wolf.

"My God," Van Helsing murmured as the wolf rose onto two legs before the open cage door.

At the sound of the deep voice, the wolf shivered, hard. Without hesitation, it leapt into the wagon and Van Helsing scrambled back; grabbing up the blanket that had covered him, he wrapped it about his forearm several times. It would be a poor defense should the wolf attack but it was better than nothing.

"Carl!" he called urgently at the wolf, his gaze caught by the blue feral gaze as the wolf stalked forward. The sight of his friend, of the intelligence he saw in that blue gaze, struck him like a physical blow.

He thrust himself back, as far as his leg chain would allow, but there was no place to go. The cage that might have protected him was a trap now, making him easy prey. He set his jaw grimly as the wolf came on.

It approached like smoke—gliding, silent. He was prepared for it when the attenuated fingers tipped with long dark claws touched his bound leg. His breath was coming faster now; his eyesight seemed to grow keener. He saw the wolf's nostrils expand to draw his scent in deeply. He saw the impossible blue eyes dilate with that scent. The wolf's white coat seemed to glow and twinkle until he realized that it was covered in droplets of dew that shivered and scintillated in the moon's light. The wolf that Carl had become was beautiful.

"Carl!" Van Helsing called to the man within the wolf, his voice strong and insistent. The wolf blinked, and paused; in the blue eyes, Van Helsing saw the intelligence of the man he called a friend and his raised arm dropped. The hand on his leg slid gently upwards, then, to touch and then curl about his hip, pulling him toward the wolf. He heard the soft murmuring whines that the wolf couldn't help making as he thrust his great head forward into the hunter's neck and licked Van Helsing's bare throat and shoulder.

Van Helsing shuddered as he felt, deep within himself, the war between man and wolf commence. He knew this wolf, knew without a doubt that it was Carl, and yet he also recognized it with the deeper senses of a wolf as being part of himself. Part of his pack. As a hunter, his instinct was to fight it, but his memories as both a man and a wolf forbade it. For an instant he gave in to the memories and allowed himself to bury his face in the soft cool fur of the wolf's neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of Carl and the wolf combined made him shudder convulsively as he realized there was no taint of evil to this creature. Evil had left its mark, but it had not become a part of Carl, not yet. The hunter was cut adrift in that instant, leaving him confused and uncertain--the wolf had to be stopped, but he could not kill his friend to do it.

The wolf's hands pulled him close, circling his ribs, and he gasped and arched backwards as long claws touched his wounded back. The wolf made a questioning noise and the soft muzzle dipped now past his shoulder, to his back.

"No!" Van Helsing's rejection of the wolf's comfort—a soft hot tongue drawn across his open wounds—was automatic. Thrusting his forearm against the wolf's white throat, he shoved it back.

The maneuver brought the wolf's face back into view and its soft upper lip rippled in an admonishing snarl. One large hand cuffed him gently, causing him to topple over, almost blacking out. He shook his head, hard, and scrambled to the side only to be drawn back and effortlessly flipped over to expose his scored back to the wolf.

"Damnit, Carl, No!" The wolf ignored his struggles, as its muzzle dropped toward his back, Van Helsing drove his elbow back to impact solidly against it, driving the wolf's head back. The monster fell back on its haunches with a yelp that quickly turned into a growl. For whatever reason the wolf wasn't attacking him, Van Helsing thanked his lucky stars as he scrambled to his knees, rolling rapidly to plant his agonized back against the bars.

The blue eyes narrowed as the wolf rose slowly to four feet, and then to two. Van Helsing's gaze rose with it and he silently cursed the chain around his ankle, Charles, and the day that he had first heard of Devon. When the wolf leaned down to seize him, he struck the muzzle solidly with a closed fist, wincing as its head snapped back. Immediately, he lunged forward, kicking upward to bury his foot in the wolf's exposed midsection only to have the wolf seize his thigh and drag him over the wagon floor, flipping him again. He heard the wolf growl as it planted a heavy hand upon his shoulder to hold him flat.

He shouted out then even as he mentally prayed for Carl's forgiveness. He couldn't allow Carl to turn him into a wolf. It was possible that the antidote he had already taken would protect him from being re-infected, but he had no assurances. As it was, they had only the slimmest chance if one of them could remain human. If they both were werewolves, they had none.

From all around them, lights were coming on in the wagons. The animals were stirring and catching the scent of the werewolf and their panicked sounds were horribly loud. Carl snarled loudly and cuffed the hunter again, this time much harder.

Van Helsing felt as if an explosion had gone off in his head. Helplessly, he sank toward black unconsciousness. His last realization was the sensation of the white wolf's long hot tongue against his back, lapping his wounds, offering the wolf's comfort as he effortlessly made Van Helsing one of the pack again.

* * *

Vermin ran from his wagon, joining the others in their rush toward Van Helsing's cage. From the hunter's cries, he knew what to expect and he was ready. Nothing had prepared him, though, for the actual sight of the white wolf inside the cage. His mouth gaped open as he stumbled to a halt, his eyes fixed upon the magnificent beast that had come to claim the hunter. He remembered the handsome man the friar had been, but the wolf he had become was mythic. 

He saw it lick the hunter's wounded back and saw the proprietary pleasure it took in the act. Then, effortlessly, the wolf's long fingers circled the chain about Van Helsing's ankle and snapped it as if it were a thread. He picked the limp man up and turned to the open cage door.

Without thinking, Vermin brought the blow pipe he carried to his mouth and expelled the sedative dart. It thudded into the white pelt and the wolf roared with anger. Vermin sent another, and then another dart into the white wolf before it staggered, and then sank down, dropping the man's body. The blue gaze turned unerringly to his and the dwarf blinked as he crossed himself.

The _**clang**_ of the cage door closing caught both the dwarf and wolf by surprise. Instantly, the wolf leapt at the door, slamming into it so hard the entire wagon rocked violently, but the iron door held.

In the gathering light of dawn, a figured staggered back from the cage door—Charles, his hands clasped before him in a mockery of rapturous prayer, watched the wolf succumb to the tranquilizers and sink down over Van Helsing's legs. As the first touch of the rising sun's rays flickered over the two caged figures, the wolf seemed to shiver and then fall apart, leaving the naked form of the friar behind.

Rising over the stunned silence that gripped them, Charles' loud triumphant laughter came to Vermin like the hellish exultations of the devil.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new wolf emerges

**Notes: **

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

To Miyuki, SeaDragon 68, Chibi-kaz, xixmoonofdespairXix, Miko 2660, and Jablan: Please accept my deepest thanks for your reviews. Your encouragement and suggestions are what made this chapter possible.

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

BROTHER WOLF 6

The countryside was awash with a grey driving rain that shrouded the sun and caused the day to appear as dark as twilight. In the thick cloying dampness, a hard chill emerged that made the humans and beasts of the circus shiver and seek whatever shelter they could find. Even bundled in beds of straw or in beds piled high with tattered blankets and clothing, their exhalations rose as clotted clouds of fog that settled almost immediately as an unwelcome dampness on their skins. In the face of Nature's cold displeasure, man and beast alike sought the only true comfort that oblivious sleep would bring.

"_Carl? Carl!"_

He was swimming in a slow moving deep river, the lazy flow of the cool water over his body felt wonderful. It would have been marvelous to simply float down the river effortlessly, without a worry in the world, but a persistent voice kept dragging him out of his pleasant stupor. He really truly didn't want to leave that river, though.

"_Carl, I know that you can hear me. Open your eyes."_

Nooo...he wasn't going to do that. He was too comfortable and something about the urgency in that deep voice suggested opening his eyes would be a very bad idea. Nothing good ever came from a voice like that.

"_Carl, you're lying stark naked in a cage in the middle of a field and very soon you are going to freeze to death."_

Naked? Stark? What was the voice talking about? In any case, he was dreaming and it was allowed to be naked in a dream. He'd had whole hosts of dreams wherein he paraded naked through the most outrageous places and no one ever seemed to mind. Well, except for that one time when...

A hard pinch to his ribs made the friar yelp and abruptly sit up, flailing about him as he did so. He felt the edge of his wrist contact hard with something soft and heard a grunt and then a growl. Hands appeared at either side of his face, pulling it forcefully about so that his eyes met a stern hazel gaze.

"V...Van Helsing?" Carl bleated. "What are you doing here?"

The hunter's mouth constricted in a wry grimace as one dark brow rose. "Well, currently I live here, Carl. Unfortunately, so do you."

"Unfortunately?" Carl asked, blinking rapidly in bemusement. "What...are we at the Palace?"

"Not on its worst day," Van Helsing said grimly as his hands turned the friar's face so that Carl looked out over the haphazard camp of drawn wagons. In the grey murky light, he could see the gaudy paint that covered the wagons was peeling, leaving depressing grey wood beneath. They were in a field of yellow weeds that had been trampled down until the stalks were partially buried in black sticky mud over which ran broad streams of dirty water. From somewhere in the distance, he heard the whinny of a horse and then the improbable roar of a disgruntled lion.

"This isn't the Palace," Carl said with reassuring confidence. "It looks like…a ratty circus?"

"Full marks." Van Helsing patted him on the back before leaning back gingerly against what Carl was horrified to discover were bars. His gaze flew about the wagon they sat in, and then finally down at himself.

"My God," the friar bleated as a deep red flush flooded his face, "I'm completely naked!"

Van Helsing winced in sympathy at the horrified tone of his friend's voice. "Not completely, Carl. Thanks to the performers, you've got a blanket to hide your dignity behind."

"But...I don't want a blanket! I want my clothes!"

"Hmm, I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the blanket for now."

Carl stared at him with wounded disbelief for the space of several seconds; when the hunter made no move to speak further, the friar gathered the threadbare blanket to his chin and glared. Patently, he wasn't pleased. With as much dignity as he was capable of summoning, and while taking care to keep the blanket's folds well up, Carl worked the material about his body, winding it tightly so that it covered as much of him as possible. When he was done, he took a deep breath before speaking. "I think I need to ask what happened."

Van Helsing grunted, his hands rising to scrub at his face. "Do you remember anything?"

"Not really. Well...I think bits and pieces."

"Such as?" the hunter coaxed with grim humor.

"Well, not this," Carl gestured to his state of undress with a decided air. "I do remember setting up the trap... After that, it's only vague images..."

"Try, Carl. After we set up the trap, what happened then?

"I don't know, I've told you that it's all vague..."

"Try!"

The hunter's admonishment emerged as a growled shout and Carl fell back on his hip, his mouth dropping open in surprise. With a visible effort and several sidelong glances at the other man, he pulled himself together. As the surprise of his surroundings gave grudging way, he was becoming aware of how cold he was--it was making concentrating surprisingly difficult. Wrapping his arms about his ribs in a hard hug, he jiggled up and down slightly as he wracked his memory. "Ah. Well, I remember the trap—we were waiting. I think there were two wolves, not just one. Somewhere the first wolf, Devon, found and bonded with another wolf, though I didn't know that werewolves did that sort of thing. I'd always thought they were solitary animals...er...monsters. Possibly the other one was his mate that would explain it to some degree, though..."

"Carl...stick to the story."

"Right." Carl brought his long legs about in front of him and encircled his knees with his arms. Ferociously, he scrubbed his forehead against the damp blanket covering his knees, as if to stir his thoughts enough to bring the memories to the surface. When he spoke again, his voice was somewhat garbled and hesitant, but the hunter had no difficulty understanding him.

"There were two wolves. I saw one of them attack you—it was smaller than I would have expected. It must have been a female. I was running to help you, and something...some thing jumped me...and then..."

Carl's voice died down to a whisper and then faded completely. Van Helsing watched in sympathy as he saw memory return in a horrifying rush to his friend. The friar's skin blanched white as his hands left his knees in a convulsive grab at his own shoulder to find only smooth pale skin marred by a deep red mark.

The blue eyes came up then as Carl's mouth opened and closed several times. When he abruptly scrubbed at his mouth as he looked at the hunter's shoulder, Van Helsing knew the friar had remembered the previous evening.

"I...I think I'm going to be breathtakingly ill," Carl whispered. "I came here...after you... I was going to take you back with me, but first I needed to...to..."

Van Helsing took pity on his friend at that point. He had wanted Carl to remember for himself the sequence of events that now left them in a cage in the middle of nowhere. He did this because he had too many questions that needed answers that only the friar could provide. He also did it because he found that he had a great deal of guilt. Perhaps he had behaved in a cravenly manner in making Carl remember, but he found that he lacked the courage to simply tell the friar what had happened.

With a sigh, Van Helsing reached out to the friar and squeezed his shoulder. When Carl's woebegone face rose to his, the hunter's heart overflowed with pity and remorse; he pulled Carl to him then in a hard comforting hug.

* * *

Looking out over the rainy field beyond the bars of their cage, Carl sighed. "So, I can look forward to turning into a howling monster when night comes…and you…we're not sure yet." 

"We have some things to discuss along those lines."

Carl wriggled slightly as the hunter's deep voice reverberated within his chest under the friar's ear. It tickled, but not enough to make him want to give up the comfort he felt lying there. He'd been lying in Van Helsing's arms for some time; at first, it had felt odd and he was inclined to hold himself rigidly. Van Helsing hadn't seemed to be put off by Carl's distance; he had alternately hugged the friar and rubbed his back in small warming motions for some time until, gradually, Carl had relaxed and lay heavy and limp on his chest. They'd never lain like this before, in one another's arms, bare skin pressed against bare skin. There was an intimacy to the simple act that soothed the incipient panic that bubbled just below the surface of his thoughts After a time, Van Helsing had moved beneath him, as if he were letting Carl pull away, but the friar had surprised them both by holding on. There had been a good deal of hmming and hawing after that, but neither man had since made a move to disentangle himself.

Carl sighed, and closed his eyes. With the cessation of sight his other senses seemed to awaken from a profound sleep into blazing awareness. Sounds were crisper, clearer, and he found it easy to identify them—he could hear individual drops hitting the sodden ground; in the background, he heard the grunts and muttering whines of the lions as they snarled bad temperedly at one another. The zebra was asleep, but judging by its snorting whinnies and the crisp rustling of its legs and feet within the straw of its cage, its dreams were not pleasant. Beyond the cluster of cages housing the animals, were the chaotic sounds of human life within the circled wagons that were proving intensely irritating. The other animals he had no difficulty in understanding, the humans however, with their random motions and useless noise made no sense. From yards away, he could smell the assorted scents of powder, grease, fabric and unwashed bodies as clearly as if he had his nose buried within them.

In an effort to escape the cacophony of input, he turned inwards to his thoughts only to find them as chaotic as his surroundings. The details within his newly found memories sparked mortification within himself and he was finding it difficult to live with. He felt he should apologize to the hunter for what he had done as the wolf, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. Above his head, he felt Van Helsing's breath stir his hair in a _chuff_ of inquiry—of course the hunter had sensed Carl's conflict. It would do no good now to try to put it off any longer, he would simply have to muddle through it.

"Van Helsing...er...well, of course I'm...eh..." The muddling-through process didn't appear to be working as well as he had hoped.

"Carl, I want to tell you how sorry I am."

What? Carl raised his head then, meeting the hunter's haunted eyes in confusion. "What? Sorry...what do you have to be sorry for?"

The friar's voice had emerged as a disbelieving squeak that brought a small smile to Van Helsing's lips and made his own confession blessedly easier.

"I'm sorry for a great many things, Carl. Not the least of which is dragging you here in the first place."

"Oh." Carl considered that for several seconds, then nodded before dropping his head with a _thunk_ back onto the hunter's chest. "Alright. I give you permission to feel sorry about that."

"Thank you."

The sardonic response rumbled beneath Carl's ear and he squirmed as a smile came to his own mouth. With a sigh, he rubbed his cheek against Van Helsing, noting the scratch of hair and the give of skin and muscle in a detached sort of way. Van Helsing's body gave off a surprising amount of heat that was proving soporific. "Go on," he murmured sleepily, waving one hand vaguely in the air before firmly tucking it into the hunter's stomach beneath the blanket again.

"Go on? You're handling this well."

"Well, I _am_ a clergyman. Confession is good for the soul, I can hardly deny that can I?"

"Hmph. No, I suppose not. Just try, though, Carl..."

"Mmm? Try?"

"Not to fall asleep," Van Helsing murmured, but he smiled as he said it.

"I won't," Carl promised confidently, patting Van Helsing's stomach. "Go on."

Van Helsing grimaced slightly, one dark eyebrow rising as he looked down at the blond head nestled quite comfortably on his bare chest. His friar had adapted to their closeness with remarkable ease. He wasn't sure if that made his confessions easier or harder.

"When the other hunters first appeared," he murmured, "I should have taken the time to find some place safe for you first, before going after the wolf."

"Mmm. Well that hardly makes sense you know? Where would you have left me? If I'd stayed at the inn, I would have had to deal with the amorous attentions of that brigand. You could hardly leave me in the woods where the wolf could find me. And I doubt that the circus would have volunteered to house me. So where else could you have left me?"

"Hmph. When you put it like that...it seems the only place you'd be safe would be the Palace."

"Yes, well we've already mentioned that, so let's consider your earlier admission as having covered that subject. What else do you feel guilty about?"

"I didn't keep you safe in the glen."

"True, but I didn't keep you safe, either."

"That's not your job, Carl."

The friar blinked and raised his head to face his friend, a surprised gleam in his eye. "It's not? What else have I been doing all this time? Why do you think I make your weapons? Why do you think I created the antidote in the first place if not to keep you safe?"

Van Helsing's head tilted to one side as he considered the friar's words with some surprise. Carl's blue eyes flashed as he eyed the hunter with obvious disapprobation. "Yes, perhaps you'd best think on that one," he advised ominously before settling down again. His dignified disdain had been marvelous and he would have been delighted to have left it that way, but in his resumption of his place on Van Helsing's chest he was shocked to feel the scratch of a nipple at his chin. Blushing furiously, he hitched himself upwards and settled in safer territory. Without seeing it, he could tell the hunter was grinning. "Go on," he ordered testily.

It was Van Helsing's turn to shift uneasily, his next admission coming slowly. "I should have aimed to kill when I shot Devon, rather than just trying to wound him. It might have kept you from being infected."

Carl thought about the hunter's words, his own coming slowly as well. "I'm glad...that you didn't kill him."

"You are?"

"Yes. After having been a...a wolf...I understand them a little better, I think. Devon wasn't inherently evil, he was driven to it. I don't believe the man, or woman who remains at the core of the beast is truly aware of what's passed. Not at first, at any rate--they're innocent."

Van Helsing's chest beneath Carl's cheek rose and then subsided as the hunter sighed, his arms about the friar becoming firmer in their hold.

"You're feeling better?" Carl guessed and heard the rumble of the hunter's assent.

"I'm better," Van Helsing said with surprise. "You're good at this, Carl."

"Yes I am," Carl admitted easily.

"And yet, there's _still_ room for improvement," Van Helsing chuckled, amused at the friar's complete lack of anything approaching modesty, plainly a virtue Carl had no use for.

Carl made no comment to that; he was wholly absorbed in the pursuit of comfort. Impossibly, the day was growing even colder and with the loss of his clothing and the scant protection of the worn blanket he wore, Carl was finding new comfort in Van Helsing's body heat. Unashamedly, he draped himself over the other man, burrowing his shoulder into the hunter's armpit, warming his hands on Van Helsing's stomach, even sliding his legs between Van Helsing's. He found complete nirvana when he plastered his chest to the hunter's and tucked his nose firmly into the hollow of the Van Helsing's throat.

His human comforter bore Carl's search for heat with absent-minded good grace, though the friar's cold toes curling into the backs of his knees made him reflexively shiver. Van Helsing's thoughts had returned to the wolf and the approaching advent of night.

"Carl, we need to talk about what is going to happen, and what can be done about it."

The friar made no reply; instead he sighed deeply, and then nodded. Above him, Van Helsing brows knitted in perplexity, smoothing as understanding came to him. When he spoke again, his voice was unaccustomedly gentle.

"Carl, we'll find a way to cure the lycanthropy. I won't allow anyone to hurt you, I swear it."

"Thank you…but it's not me I'm worried for. Van Helsing, there is a good chance that the antidote they gave you has protected you from…from me, from being re-infected. But it's quite possible that my hypothesis about werewolves not being inherently evil is completely wrong…. You'll be trapped in this cage with me when I change…."

"You're thinking of Anna," the hunter said grimly, hardly needing the friar's nod of agreement. He looked beyond the bars of their cage, through the heavily falling rain to the flashes of lightening that lit the low darkened clouds from within as he considered his answer. "We discussed this in Rome, Carl. I agreed with you then--I think it's different this time," he said firmly. "Dracula created the werewolves for his own purposes in Transylvania. I could sense the evil that made them, thatconsumed them. There was no humanity in Velkan, no sense of who he was when he took the wolf's form. It was different with you, last night, Carl, you still had human memories. I could sense you within the wolf. And there was no evil within either of you."

The hunter could feel the butterfly brush of Carl's eyelashes on his skin as the friar processed his words and began to formulate his own conclusions. Carl's mind never stopped working; it was a constant that Van Helsing was counting on.

* * *

Peter sat hunched upon a three-legged stool that had, at some point in its checkered past, been reduced to two legs. Balancing on it was possible, but it required most of the sitter's attention. Considering how cold he was, the giant found himself grateful for the distraction. 

He was currently watching Vermin work at the heavy scarred table pushed up to the far wall of their shabby tent; the dwarf hardly seemed to be aware of the giant's regard or the cold. His entire attention was fixed upon the bubbling concoction that currently simmered over a small fire set in a four-legged metal plate. Lacking any scientific paraphernalia beyond what he'd been able to steal, Vermin was making do by boiling his potion in their only drinking mug.

Peter watched his friend with benign patience; he was used to the 'light of genius' capturing and holding the dwarf's attention for hours at a time. If the needs of the circus didn't force Vermin away from his beloved brews, it was probable that the dwarf would be content to spend 24 hours a day at his table.

The ways of Vermin's thought processes were well-known to the giant, so when the dwarf's work brought him close enough, the giant wobbled on his stool, just a little, making it squeal like a mouse in a meat grinder. He smiled as he saw the dwarf's teeth set on edge and the snapping brown eyes slide to him.

"Yer do that on purpose, don't yer?" Vermin gritted, raising an eyebrow as the giant's knowing smile grew wider. Turning to his friend, the dwarf looked up into the benign grey eyes and sniffed. "All right, yer got me attention. Wot do ya want?"

Peter shifted slightly, carefully this time so that the stool's squeals were kept to a minimum, and pointed out of the flapping tent door to the grey rain beyond, and then he held up one arm, bent at the elbow and allowed it to fall slowly sideways until his palm was horizontal to the canvas floor.

Vermin nodded impatiently, patting the air before the giant. "Aye, aye, I know time's gettin' short. It's not easy tryin' to copy someone else's work, ya know! I don't 'ave the slightest bleedin' idea wot I'm doin' wiv this werewolf antidote and yer jawin' at me isn't makin' it easier!"

Peter raised one scarred eyebrow as he now held two hands open before him in the pantomime of a book.

Vermin chewed his lip as he looked at the giant's hands and shrugged. "Aye, I know. I _used_ the recipe Carl gave me…but I 'ave next to nothin' of the key ingredient--the blood of that vampire. And wot I do 'ave of it is so diluted it might not 'ave any effect. Not to mention Iall the other ingredients I don't 'ave and the ones I do 'ave are in too small a quantity. Basically, I'm makin' do wiv wot I've got, substitutin' it for wot's missin'."

A slight hiss from the makeshift concoction sent the dwarf scuttling back to his table where he adjusted the flame beneath the mug. "I'm pretty sure it's fine," Vermin muttered defensively to the mug. When no sound was made by his audience, his brown gaze reluctantly slid like a whipped dog back to Peter's face; he was surprised to find the giant's massive features wreathed in smiles. Peter nodded to him then, visible waves of confidence and reassurance rolled off him to envelope the frustrated chemist within Vermin, bringing a grateful smile to the little man's face. With a sigh, he turned back to his brew, shaking his head.

"From yer lips to God's ear, mate. I just wish I 'ad more experience at this sort of thing."

Peter rose to his feet then, leaning his stool securely against the table before moving to the dwarf's side. With one huge finger, he poked at the Vermin's shoulder until his friend looked up at him, then he pointed to their one and only beaker set safely back at the rear of the table. Within the container a gelatinous black substance reflected both their faces in tiny distorted detail.

Vermin's worried frown disappeared at once as he gazed at the beaker with all the fondness of a parent. The concoction was his greatest triumph. He'd been working on it for a solid year, making minute adjustments and then retesting it every few weeks.

"Me greatest work," he sighed, and then reached out to pat the beaker fondly. "It's close…I know it. Just a little more tinkerin' and it'll work. If I didn't 'ave to run at Charles' beck and call all the time…."

Peter's returned Vermin's smile, but the giant's face was anything but pleasant. There was a gleam in his eye that was very nasty as he graphically drew one large finger over his own throat.

"Nah! Yer got no vision, mate! Anyone could kill the miserable pig…it's the poetry of the thing that makes it all worth while. 'E'll get 'is comeuppance proper. You'll see. It just wants a little figurin' on 'ow to keep the circus safe without 'im."

Peter shrugged then, but he patted his friend fondly. He had seen Vermin's colder, more ruthless side many times and had been impressed by the dwarf's ability to survive in a cold world that treated him like a freak. But it was the fierce protectiveness of the dwarf's nature that often went unremarked that the giant treasured most. Vermin had taken it upon himself to guide and keep the others safe, and Peter loved him dearly for it. Vermin understood, far better than anyone, that their circus of freaks and misfits would be in danger if not for the presence of an obviously normal owner. For that reason alone, Vermin put up with Charles' tyranny, and it was because of Vermin that Peter stayed his hand. He would wait to deal with Charles until the time was right.

* * *

The rain should have made no difference to the Other One; she had lived for many years within the wolf's form and had flourished in all weathers. But everything was different now—she had been given a mate, the First One, and had fulfilled her duty by him and the Old Ones. They thought to shackle her to the First Place by her maternal intincts. Instead, she'd taken the First One and her unborn and left, in search of her own Place. Now the First One was gone, but she'd found another One. He was a hundred times more powerful than the First One--if he had come to the village instead of the First, they would never have allowed her to mate with him. Her soft furred lips pulled up in a snarling smile. They didn't matter any more. She had what she wanted. But first, she needed to find him. He'd gone after the other One, the dark one. She felt a jolt of anger rustle within her and she snapped at the fog that curled and twisted with every warm breath she expelled. She was alone in the a wet forest of yellow weeds, her paw falls were muted by the running murky water, no one could see or hear her—she could allow herself her anger now. 

The first law of their ancestors was to pack, but she was different. She wanted something for herself alone, she wanted the One. Though it wasn't acknowledged, there had been rogues in the past--single and paired wolves that had left the pack for solitary lives far away. They were welcomed nowhere, accepted nowhere, enemies of all. But their lives were their own. Which was the greater sacrifice?

The cold wetness that soaked her through and the wound in her chest and shoulder sapped her strength until she was forced to stop. The first time she had stopped, she had been lucky and found a small recess in a tree. She'd been able to sleep for a short time before renewing her journey. She was grateful that after so many years, she only had to occasionally bow to the demands her nature made upon her—she could go for many weeks before she had to allow her frail soft human to emerge. The pitiful weak human emerged disoriented, hating her weak inability to take care of herself as much as the Other One did. In those times of shame, she hid herself, until once again she could be consumed by the wolf.

It occurred to the Other One that she would need to guide her new mate through the difficult process of adjustment. At first, his human would be dominant, tainting his thoughts and instincts with the disgusting perversions of humans; it would be difficult for them both, but her kind were well versed in dominating their human sides. She was confident in her ability to guide him in doing so as well.

Just a little longer now, she could sense her objective. She would wait, until the night and the wolf reclaimed him and he would help her to set him free to make his first human kill.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: Van Helsing and Carl leave the circus behind

**Notes: Many MANY thanks to GlasTriskellion for her suggestions and help with a HUGE plot hole and with some much needed additions to chapter 1. If you go back to Chapter 1, you'll read some additional dialogue between Carl and VH concerning the nature of werewolves. In Chapter 6, I corrected the hole concerning the possible midnight deadline (you can get a better idea about this if you read GlasTriskellion's review).**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation!

To GlasTriskellion, Demus, Chibi-Kaz, N, and Billyez: Thank you so much for reviewing! Your encouragement and suggestions kept my muse humming; I hope the result is enjoyable and thought provoking!

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 7**

The sun seemed to slice through the heavens, moving more quickly to the horizon that day than was its norm; thick dark clouds hiding it from view bled from within with gem-hued colors of amazing vibrancy. As the sun made its journey to obscurity with wanton pageantry, the moon, traveling in its wake, seemed to almost skulk into its place. But it was the moon with its power over those below that would prove to be the final victor.

Carl watched the sun sink with bedazzled eyes that gleamed with a brilliant reflected color. He still clung to Van Helsing, still clung to his humanity with white knuckled fingers. When the first touch of darkness had encroached, the hunter felt a shudder start within his friend's body that no soothing or tightening of his arms could allay. It started deep within Carl, traveling throughout his body to grow stronger as the sun sank lower. It wasn't difficult to see the quakes now racking Carl's body eventually tearing it apart to release the lupine prisoner within. His own memories of the helpless surge of excitement and the heedless power overwhelming the man he was caused him to tighten his hold about Carl, as though he could halt the change by his own will. As the last jeweled-tones of light slashed across the sky, Carl began to writhe within his arms. Van Helsing held him tight, dropping his face down into the sweat-soaked blond hair.

"Carl, hang on! Remember!"

* * *

As the Other One watched the sun set, small eager whines forced their way from her. She couldn't help her excitement. She could smell her mate now, he was with the dark male that he had left her to find. The dark human hadn't turned; she could smell the wolf on him, but so deeply buried as to be non-existent. Her mate had tracked this man for nothing. 

Well…perhaps he could still serve a purpose.

She rose to her feet then, and loped through the dark cold puddles of water toward the wagons.

* * *

He had been cheated of his first dark miracle with the curing of Van Helsing's curse—Charles was determined that a repetition of that act would not occur. He stalked through the grey rain, toward the tattered stained tent that Vermin lived in with a single purpose in mind—he would protect what was his. Above him, lightening flashed vividly and the ground shook with the clap of immediate thunder for seconds after. The brief flash of brilliance bleached Charles' hard pale face so that he looked like one of the clowns, his individuality and his humanity was completely washed away. Only his eyes were untouched by the metamorphosis, they remained dark sinkholes from which only hatred escaped. 

In his clenched hand he carried a long thick knife. His plans for it were basic: he would find Vermin, he would kill Vermin. In doing so, he would ensure the two within the caged wagon would remain his prisoners. He'd always known the dwarf stole from him; he had put up with it for some time because Vermin kept the others in line. But Vermin's taking and then using the antidote was the last straw. He'd thought about it all day as he lay in a drunken state, waiting for the night to fall, for Carl's wolf to be set free. One of two things would happen then—the wolf would kill Van Helsing, or it would make him one of its own. Obviously, two wolves were better than one, especially one with the cachet of having been an infamous murdering hunter of monsters himself. The friar had followed the hunter once to infect him; Charles had reasonable expectations that was what would happen again.

Everything, however, would be ruined if Vermin interfered again. That's why Charles had finally decided it was time to rid himself of the dwarf. With two werewolves in his possession, he didn't need the dwarf any longer, nor, indeed, any of the freaks that clung to his coattails. It was time to cut the chain that anchored them to him.

The set mask of Charles' face moved then, folding and wrinkling into a small contained smile. He was going to enjoy this.

* * *

Carl screamed as metamorphosis seized him, ripping him from Van Helsing's arms. In the last instant of his humanity, he heard Van Helsing call to him, saw the hunter reach for him, and then the world exploded into a red haze. In that instant, everything changed. 

The words of the hunter that had anchored him became noise, the coldness that he had shivered from for so long now faded, leaving in its place internal warmth that filled him with the sensation of fire. Before his staring eyes, the colors of the world bled away to be replaced by shades of black, white, and silver. He would have mourned the loss of color if the chaotic awakening of his other senses hadn't completely consumed him. The acuity that he had experienced earlier was nothing compared to the panoply of sensation that now overwhelmed him. His second submergence into lycanthropy was so much more profound, he forgot everything in the rapturous experience of his transformation.

Van Helsing rose grimly to his feet and backed toward the far corner of the cage as the white wolf shook himself hard, then raised his muzzle to the moon in a long howl of triumph. He sensed nothing of Carl in the beast before him now; he prayed that after the first flush of transformation had faded, the man would again appear in the wolf's eyes.

The werewolf shivered beneath the subdued light of the cloud-cloaked moon; looking up at the silver clouds he allowed a small growl of pleasure to flutter his upper lip. Easily, he rose to two legs, the long attenuated fingers of his hands slid down over the smooth velvet fur that covered his chest, his stomach, and then his abdomen. Every inch of him thrummed with the power of the night, it was as if he'd been asleep and had only just realized he'd mistaken nebulous dreams for life. He was an alpha male in the full of his power and he exulted in it.

He lifted his eyes then, to the dark man who now stood silently in the cage with him; his nose twitched as he inhaled deeply, drawing in the man's scent. It was a complex scent, both strange and tantalizingly familiar at the same time. The man had a distinct odor of his own which raised the fur along the white wolf's neck and back into silver spikes, but overlaying that odor was another of such familiarity that the wolf found himself whining with perplexed eagerness.

Without hesitating, the wolf strode forward on two legs toward the man, who immediately slid to the other side of the cage, against the bars. The wolf blinked blue eyes, and tilted his head. The move had hardly made a difference; he could as easily take the man from his new position as from the old.

"Carl," the man spoke, his deep voice struck a note within the wolf that briefly changed his whines into rumbling growls. He saw the man's dark brows lower as he shifted against the bars, and then spoke again. "Carl! Look at me! Remember!"

The sounds coming from the man were so much noise, nothing more. But there was one sound that struck the wolf—_Carl_. It meant something to him, it had an important meaning.

Thrusting his large head forward, he drew in a deep breath, pulling the scent of the man as far into his lungs as possible. Unexpectedly, he found the smell of the dark man to be pleasurably exciting.

When the wolf stalked forward and reached for the man, he didn't attempt to elude the grasp. Long slender fingers tipped with dark claws took hold at the junction of his right shoulder and throat. Pulling the man close, the wolf lowered his muzzle to the man's throat and chest, inhaling deeply. The complex scents on the man's skin were separating now--his blue eyes narrowed as he studied the man. He was beginning to remember—this human had been bitten by the Other One. It was the female's scent on the man's body that was now exciting him. Also, he carried the wolf within his own body, though it remained submerged. And over it all, there was the familiar tang, the same that lingered on his own fur.

"Carl!"

That sound again. It was important; this man was important. He belonged, in some way he was linked.

Easily, the wolf's long hands curved about the man's ribs to lift him from his feet. He heard the man's pained grunt and he remembered that the man was injured. Small whines were _chuffed_ over the man's neck and chest to apologize for the necessary pain of the past and to come.

The man…_Gabriel_!

The wolf's blue eyes blinked as the memory assaulted him with painful force.

Lightening pierced the sky in that instant and turned the world white. He blinked reflexively as he felt Gabriel shy away from the bolt. Without thinking, the wolf pulled the man to him, pressing him into the sleek cool fur of his belly and chest. It wasn't a conscious thought, but rather in imitation of a memory past that he couldn't recall beyond the simple sensation of closeness.

Against his fur, Gabriel stirred but he offered no hurt, no fight. The wolf was barely conscious of dropping his mouth to nuzzle and then lick at the Gabriel's shoulder and then his back down to his hips, trailing a hot wet tongue soothingly over cuts and bruises. He felt Gabriel shudder and the wolf pulled back then, confused at the sensation. From the corner of his eye he saw movement and turned to it with a snarl.

A brilliant flash of lightening exposed the running form of another werewolf. He recognized her—the Other One had arrived.

* * *

Vermin started violently as a searing bolt of lightening speared down, brilliantly illuminating the dark tent; it was followed by a concussive explosion of thunder that caused even the heavy table to rattle. Reflexively, the dwarf threw himself at the metal plate and the steaming mug, catching the mug's handle as the plate skittered to and fell over the table edge. 

"Gar! Damn!" Vermin screamed his anguish as the mug's fiery handle branded his hand. He held onto it long enough to drop it, mercifully upright, onto the table, before whirling away, clutching his burned hand at the wrist.

Peter was stamping out the flickering flames caused by the hot metal on the old rotted canvas; the irony of burning to death in the midst of the tremendous storm amused neither the dwarf nor the giant.

"It's time!" Vermin shouted over the storm to his friend. "Get me somethin' to pick the damned thing up wiv!"

Peter left off attempting douse the smoking hole in the floor of their tent, and instead turned to look for something Vermin could use. In the meantime, the dwarf gritted his teeth and went to work preparing the dart he would use to receive the antidote. A set of crude tongs allowed him to position and hold the dart casing upright with the open snub end in place. He wouldn't be able to create a capsule within in the dart as Carl had, his method was to stop the needle with a bit of wax, pour the hot antidote into the cartridge, close the end, and upend the dart as quickly as possible before the wax melted. He'd then use the dart to shoot Carl.

Vermin only had enough mixture for one dart; he didn't allow himself to be distracted by thoughts of Van Helsing in the cage with Carl possibly being reinfected. If that happened, they would have to deal with it later.

With the rag that Peter handed him, the dwarf carefully lifted the mug and brought it to the casing only to find pouring the thick red liquid in a small steady stream was almost impossible. His nerves were already frayed to the breaking point and the irregular claps of explosive thunder making the table shake meant he couldn't brace the dart against it. He took several deep breaths, and then brought the mug's rim to the dart and carefully tipped it. A thick stream of crimson slid into the casing, but more flowed outside to drip onto the tent floor.

"Damn it!" Vermin growled, shaking his head, but he kept pouring. They were out of time.

Another flash turned the night into day and revealed the sweat dripping down Vermin's face and his furiously blinking eyes; the small fire had caused quite a bit of acrid smoke and the abrupt flare of light followed again by darkness was making it hard to see. In the end, Vermin aimed for the opening of the dart and poured, hoping he got enough into the dart to make a difference.

When he'd poured the last drop, Vermin dropped the mug to the ground and immediately grabbed the end cap of the dart, jamming it into place before turning the dart needle-up.

"That's it," he growled as he inserted the dart into the blow pipe. "Let's go!"

Peter lifted the flap of the tent, allowing Vermin to precede him outside into the rain. As he ducked under the flap himself he saw a dark shape behind the dwarf, its arm descending in a vicious arc. Without thinking, Peter lunged for the dwarf, shoving him hard so that Vermin flew through the air to land several feet away

The dwarf rolled through the mud and running water, stunned. When he came to a stop, his first thought was the dart and he almost whimpered his relief to find it still clutched in one hand. He looked up then, to find the source of the shove.

The sleeting rain turned silver as another lightening strike showed him two men fighting—Peter was attempting to hold the other man's arm away from him. Vermin sucked in his breath as he saw the large knife and then Charles' white set face. Peter should have been easily capable of fighting Charles off, but as they fought, Vermin saw the wound between Peter's shoulders. The giant's back was dark with blood and his hoarse breathing caused him to cough up a gout of black thick blood.

"Peter!" Vermin started to his feet, his mission forgotten. The giant turned his head; looking at the dwarf with angry grey eyes he thrust his chin in the direction of the cage. Charles lashed out; hooking one foot behind the giant's knee, and both men fell to the wet ground with a tremendous splash.

Vermin stood irresolute for several precious seconds, staring at the two struggling men. Peter was going to die. He was going to die because Charles wanted to kill Vermin; the madman wanted to kill because he didn't want to lose the two lost souls in the caged wagon.

Peter was going to die.

Vermin's lips curled in a snarl as he whirled about and ran for the wagon.

* * *

The Other One rose up on two legs before the cage door; her yellow eyes glowed in the darkness as she looked beyond to the werewolf and the man he held. Her soft furred lip rippled back to reveal long white fangs and serrated teeth. 

There was too much happening at once—the storm, the closeness of humans, and now the scent of blood came plainly to her nose making her salivate. She was hungry, she was tired, but she wanted the One.

His blue gaze met hers and his mouth opened to snarl at her, and then to softly whine. She could smell his excitement.

She reached up to the bars of the cage, her long clawed fingers stroking the wet glistening bars, the sound of her claws made a shrill metallic noise that raised the hair on her neck and back.

The One growled at her, but he released the man and dropping to all fours, came to the cage door. An inaudible snarl lifted his lip, but he lowered his head to sniff her through the bars. Eagerly, unable to help herself, she licked him as she whined ingratiatingly.

When he was released, Van Helsing fell, only just catching himself from falling prone by jamming his hands into the wet wood of the cage floor. He lifted his bowed head then, peering through dark hair that streamed with water, to see the waiting female.

"Carl!"

The wolf shuddered; his great head turned reluctantly away from the female to look back at the man.

The Other One's eager whines turned instantly to a sullen snarl, her clawed hand flashed, striking the white male hard on his turned shoulder, opening his flesh to the bone.

The wolf howled in shock, his head whipped back to the female. He snarled and lunged at the door, his own clawed hands slashing out through the bars to strike her twice, dropping her to the ground.

She lay there, panting, listening to the angry _chuffing_ noise of his breathing and the sound of the wood creaking beneath his weight as he explored the cage door again. She waited, until he snarled at her and voiced an angry bark of displeasure. Then she forced herself to rise. He was angry that she didn't attend him, that she dared to raise her claws to him, that she didn't submit to his wishes. She wanted to, she needed to. She couldn't do otherwise.

His blue eyes glowed yellow as she rose from the dark before him. His long fingers were curled about the cage door bars; the rain water sluicing over them ran pink as it washed her blood from his claws. She rose to two legs and took hold of the bars as well.

Van Helsing rose to his feet, one hand rose to shove his wet hair back as he watched the two werewolves. Even in the hard rain and the bitter cold, he could feel the presence of evil; his hazel eyes narrowed as he gazed at the female. She had been a wolf for a very long time; he could sense it on her, the years of giving in to the demands of the wolf until her nature had become lupine. But wolves were not naturally evil, only ruthlessly practical. This female…she had long since forgotten even the meaning of her humanity but she was not a true wolf either. Her quandary left her open to the evil that spawned her. He'd found the wolf he and Carl had talked about in Rome, the werewolf who would receive no benefit from the antidote.

As lightening slashed through the sky, its closeness causing him to reflexively wince and raise a hand to shield his eyes, he saw the movement and bulging of muscles beneath the wolves' water logged pelts. Over the clap of thunder he heard the scream of metal being torn. And then abruptly the door to their cage was open. Immediately, Carl leapt to the ground, his body a flash of white in the darkness.

Van Helsing moved to the opening, one hand rising to anchor to the cold metal as he peered out into the darkness. That's when he saw Vermin, running toward them, raising the blow pipe to his lips. In the darkness, with two werewolves present, one of whom would not hesitate to kill a human being, the dwarf's chance of success was much too low.

"Vermin! Stop!" He didn't know if the dwarf failed to hear him or if he'd already sent the dart on its way but in the dim light, with his vision still spotty from the last lightening strike, he could barely see the glimmer of the metal dart as it flew out of the blow pipe. The female saw it as well; with a lunge she leapt between the dwarf and the white wolf, and howled when the dart sank into her brown fur.

She snarled, teeth flashing as she bit at her flank. The white wolf cuffed her head away and extracted the dart with one hand, tossing it to the side, before turning to look at Vermin.

Van Helsing leapt from the cage then and ran; slipping and sliding through the mud, he reached the white wolf and seized a handful of the wolf's ruff to distract it. Immediately, he jumped backwards as the wolf's head whipped about and the white jaws snapped at him. Van Helsing's footing in the slick mud gave way as he dodged the snap and he fell with a splash. Reflexively, he dashed the water from his face with one hand and gasped for breath as he gazed at the white wolf rearing up on two legs over him. It was an effort not to look at Vermin, not to call attention to the dwarf in any way. Instead, Van Helsing's gaze dropped to the female. She sat in the mud, her head swinging drunkenly, her long red tongue hung out over her jaw as she panted for breath. There were none of the convulsions that Van Helsing had gone through when he received the antidote.

The white wolf's gaze followed the hunter's, and then returned to Van Helsing. The man could see the wolf reasoning out his course of action. When the white head turned back to Vermin, the wolf only grunted a small growl of warning before he dropped to all fours and turned back to Van Helsing, reaching for him.

Vermin watched as the white wolf pulled Van Helsing to his feet, his long fingers covering the hunter's as he closed Van Helsing's hand firmly on his fur. Then he turned to nose the female. He saw her shudder, then rise drunkenly to four feet where she swayed from side to side. Another sound from the male sent her staggering into the darkness. The white wolf looked back then, his blue eyes meeting Vermin's brown with a meaning crystal clear to the dwarf. The wolf had what he wanted, he would leave, and they would not pursue. Then the wolf's eyes turned to Van Helsing, and blinked thoughtfully before he faced forward and stepped into the darkness, with the hunter following.

Vermin dropped to his knees in the mud; he watched the darkness where the wolves and the human that hunted them had disappeared for a long time, until the other performers came to him and pulled him to his feet. They guided him back to his tent and to his friend.

Peter was barely recognizable. He'd been dead for only a half hour, but his skin was white and cold to the touch. Charles' had at last bested the giant; he had slit Peter's throat from ear to ear, and then left the body in the mud when he disappeared into the night. The other circus folk had found and carried Peter into the tent as gently as they could. Then they had searched for Vermin.

They were waiting now, for Vermin to tell them what to do. The dwarf felt the cold in his insides, it coiled like a diamond snake about his heart and mind, freezing them until he was left with a single crystal clear thought. He turned to the waiting willing gazes and told them his plan.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: A new wolf emerges

**Notes: Special Thanks to JustinetheBean who, in addition to being an extraordinary artist, is also a very demanding reader! Here's my chapter, as requested!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

Feedback: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! _Thank you very much to Scap, DianaRulz, Myuki, .xiXMoonofDespairXix., Peekaboo42, and Demus. I can't make the wolf Anna, but I can introduce her as a new love interest. As for Vermin and Charles, I promise there will be no disappointment with how it concludes._

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 8**

They walked for a long time. The female, weakened by blood loss, the stress of the long journey she had already completed, and the antidote, was unable to go far; so the white wolf walked at her side, lending his strength so that she could lean heavily upon him as she staggered through the cold black puddles.

The fields on either side of the circus had lain fallow for a long while, the tall yellow weeds reached to Van Helsing's shoulders in some places. As he pushed through the sopping bracken, it felt as if he were wet through to the bone, but the wolves wouldn't stop. When Van Helsing released the white fur in order to push the weeds aside with both hands, the wolf had turned to look at him; Carl's blue eyes met Van Helsing's with all of the intelligence he was used to seeing, but with a fresh veneer of savagery that was strange. Then, with a small _chuff_ which sounded suspiciously like an assent, the wolf turned away, allowing Van Helsing to walk at his side unfettered.

The journey seemed surreal—the storm gave way grudgingly to allow weak blue moonlight to pour like water over the field below so that the soggy weeds sparkled like a waterfall when they moved. That, coupled with the fact that he was in the company of two werewolves, one of whom was his friend, made the hunter's journey seem more of a dream than reality.

Every time the white wolf's blue eyes turned to him, he was struck anew by the glimpse of the man within them. Van Helsing had never spent a great deal of time with werewolves, certainly not where neither he nor the wolf weren't trying to kill one another. He watched the wolves that paced before him now with narrowed eyes as he imprinted upon his mind the way they walked, the way they breathed, smelled, the sounds they made. At times, he fell slightly behind the wolves and the tracks he followed were largerthan his own bare foot prints.

He was cold, he'd come away with only his pants intact and those were sopping wet with the rain and mud. He couldn't help envying the wolves their thick coats that seemed to dry out with a quick shake.

Folding his arms across his chest, his large hands rubbed at his biceps and shoulders as he walked, remembering against his will the heat of the white wolf's body, the softness of his fur. Van Helsing would never admit to anyone that, while the man had been afraid when the wolf held him, the wolf within him had welcomed the warmth and closeness with an almost pathetic eagerness. Wolves were not meant to be solitary.

He wondered at the willingness he felt now to follow the white wolf in front of him. He was by nature a very private man, unwilling to form attachments that could be taken from him or that could be used to hurt him. It seemed possible that the loneliness he often felt stemmed from his own wolf's loneliness. If that were so, how would Carl's lycanthropy change the friar's outlook on life, and on their friendship? How would the packing instinct carry over to their human lives?

Van Helsing had lost himself in thought, something that he would be the first to admit was a very rare occurrence. He didn't notice the wolves turning onto a new course while he continued on the old. The white wolf was quick to remind him.

The only warning he had of the wolf's displeasure was a growl; suddenly, his way was blocked by a large white body and snapping jaws that lunged for his face. Van Helsing fell back several steps, his hands rising to protect himself. The wolf lunged forward, and he caught it on either side of the throat, his hands closing hard on skin and fur as he fell back into the weeds. His breath was knocked from his lungs and he gasped for air as he stared up at the wolf's face over his. He held on tight to the white fur clenched within his fists. To his logical mind, it was a token means of containing the wolf—in fact, if the werewolf meant to tear into him, there was very little he could do, but the man had to try anyway.

The wolf within him stirred, and unawares his lip curled up in a snarl as his hands, against his will, loosened, and then fell to the ground.

The white wolf stood over him for several seconds, his body almost completely covering the hunter's. Neither moved, nor made a sound. Then,

"If you're going to tear my throat out, could you just do it?" Van Helsing growled up at the wolf. "This ground is very cold and I'm going to catch my death if I don't get up soon."

The wolf huffed a warm gust of air into his face before lowering his muzzle to Van Helsing's cheek to sniff at his skin.

"Carl," Van Helsing said, his voice almost a whisper.

With the closeness of the wolf's body, he felt the tremor that went through it. The wolf continued to nose him; the cold wetness of it made Van Helsing wriggle until the wolf above him growled.

"Fine, sorry," he muttered as he forced himself to lie still. He had an idea this was some sort of wolfish rite, a form of asserting dominance. The idea of Carl attempting to dominate him might have fetched a smile to Van Helsing's mouth in other circumstances. As it was, the wolf was now nosing his mouth and he closed his eyes in a grimace as a warm tongue licked his lips wetly. Risking the wolf's displeasure, he turned his head away, and gasped for air.

"_Plurgh_," he gagged, his hands moving up to the wolf's head to push it away. "Carl, stop it!"

Two breaths, released in quick succession over his tongue-bathed skin made him roll his eyes over in a suspicious sidelong glare at the werewolf. The blue eyes over him had a thoughtful calculating look that he didn't like.

The eyes disappeared from sight as the werewolf's questing nose moved down to his throat, and then his chest and he squirmed again as a wet tongue bathed him, it's rasping course becoming embarrassingly intimate. Then the wolf lowered his head and rubbed his cheek hard against Van Helsing's chest, stomach and abdomen. The breath was driven from his lungs all over again and he snarled at the wolf as the white head rubbed over him, marking him with the scent glands located in the powerful neck and cheek.

When the white head moved down between his legs, he slapped at the wolf, and when the werewolf snarled at him, he snarled back. That brought the blue eyes back up and the wolf's soft furred lip curled in a warning.

In the pale blue light, in a clearing made of crushed yellow weeds that rose up all around them, the wolf and man fought a silent battle for dominance. The man on the ground met the blue gaze above him and within the hazel eyes a golden light kindled and flared as Van Helsing bared white teeth at the wolf. Just as suddenly the glow was gone, and the hazel eyes turned away.

The white wolf blinked, several times, his warm breath coming now in small eager whines as he nosed the man. Van Helsing lay still and unheeding; the white head dropped then, to lie upon his shoulder. The hunter moved , turning his head to bury his face in the white wolf's neck as his arms encircling the thick muscular shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Carl," Van Helsing murmured into the velvet ear. "I know what you're trying to do—but I can't give you the wolf. If we're going to find a way out of this, it has to stay buried."

He felt the white wolf's body sag against his own as a hot breath ruffled his hair in a deep sigh.

* * *

The Other One watched the One chastise the man without any of the satisfaction that she should have felt. She should have felt a fierce pride as her mate put the human down and then marked him. She should have enjoyed seeing the wolf possess her mate so completely, dominating the human within as well as without. But though she knew this should be pleasing, she could feel nothing but a dull cold apathy. It frightened her. 

In their journey from the circus, she had found her limbs to be weak; her breath tore at her chest, and her skin felt tight and painful. She was familiar with these feelings—they were similar to those experienced when her human was due to emerge. But they were also different. Normally, she was burningly aware of every second leading up to her human's reemergence and every second afterward of the human's weak shameful attempts to care for herself, to hide until the wolf, her master, could resume command. That was the way of it, the way it had always been since she was a pup.

Now, as the moon caressed her body with the cool touch of a lover, and with the scent of her chosen mate hot and fresh within her nostrils, she should have felt powerful, in control. Instead, weakness clung to her, dragging her down, hurting her...it was disgusting.

She could feel the life within her stir, and she panted, crouching down. She would give birth soon. It was important that she have her human fully in check before then, to ensure her young would be born with the necessary knowledge and instincts to assume their place in a wolfish society.

To avoid being forced to allow her human out at the wrong time, she would instead choose to release her now, to get it over with. She licked her lips and didn't allow herself to think about how the new weakness and the scattering of her will gave her little choice in the decision.

The Other One forced herself to her feet then, and set off in a staggering lope. She knew where to go, where she could be safely vulnerable.

The white wolf and the hunter looked up when the female rose and set off. Immediately, the white wolf rose as well and followed after the female. He ran several steps before shuddering to a halt, his head turning uncertainly from the still prone man to the rapidly disappearing female. He rose to two feet, towering over the brackish weeds to look about. Evidently he found what he was looking for because he dropped back down and faced Van Helsing. Once, twice, a half growl/half bark emerged from the white muzzle as the blue eyes fixed upon the hunter flared with a golden light.

Van Helsing stirred immediately. The man he had seen in the blue eyes before was gone—the werewolf that faced him was a wild animal now who barely tolerated his presence. He'd been given an order that would brook no denial; if he didn't come as bidden, he had no doubt the werewolf would see it as a challenge and answer it with lethal consequences.

As he approached, the werewolf turned and loped into the weeds; he ran after, shoving the waving stalks from his face as he fought to keep up.

They easily caught up with the female, but instead of trying to stop her progress, the male urged her on, supporting her when she staggered and would have fallen.

Weeds gave grudging way to straggling trees and a soggy layer of fallen leaves upon the rich black earth that muffled their steps. It was a relief to emerge into open air and the female seemed to rally slightly, her running steps became surer and they traveled faster.

Van Helsing, running behind the wolves, silently thanked the Order's Tibetan master who insisted that the hunter run for hours every day as part of his training schedule. The master was a spry old man of seventy five who had no difficulty keeping up and made sure that Van Helsing in turn stayed just ahead of him through judicious use of a peeled reed applied vigorously to the hunter's back whenever he slowed. He had often wanted to plant the master _and_ his reed in the nearest mud bank until they took root—now he could only be grateful as he watched the flaring golden eyes of the male wolf turn to check him every so often.

* * *

They stopped in a wooded area, near a rock fall that had the advantage of having fallen in such a way as to make a natural well. Water had collected in the broad deep basin and both wolves and man fell gratefully to their bellies before it and greedily gulped the cold water down. 

The female left the well first, retreating from it to a circle of trees where the light of the moon didn't pierce the shadows. Inside the circle was a tall hollow tree that fit her body exactly.

The male sought to approach her but her snarled rebuff was enough to send him backing away. Instead, he turned to the other member of his pack.

Van Helsing ran his hands through his dripping hair, pushing it off his face as he watched the white wolf pad toward him with an almost human look of disgruntlement.

"She won't have you?" he asked, his deep voice low and as reassuring as he could make it.

The werewolf's head cocked slightly and the white lip ruffled with a snarl of displeasure.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Van Helsing said, his gaze fixed steadily on the approaching wolf, watching for any signs of the huge wolf's displeasure with the female being transferred to himself.

"I'm having a hard time imagining how I'm going to tell Carl about this," he murmured, one dark brow rising as the wolf checked at the name, before continuing to approach. The blue eyes were less primal now, but there was still intentness to the gaze that spoke more of the animal and then man. Van Helsing leaned forward, watching the blue eyes, as he spoke. "Carl takes his reputation with the ladies very seriously... Carl, can you hear me?"

The werewolf _chuffed_ an explosive snort of hot air, and half rose to two legs as his right hand struck at the hunter, sending him rolling over the ground for several feet.

Van Helsing groaned as he lay face down in the wet leafy loam. He felt as if he'd spent altogether too much time on this mission either being battered or recovering from being battered. He'd long since lost whatever patience he might have had for it. Behind him, he heard the wolf approach and wasn't surprised when a hot wet tongue apologetically lathed his back, paying particular attention to each and every stitched cut. The wolf above him might be behaving as an animal, but his motivations were strictly and stubbornly human. In the next moment, inhumanly long fingers touched and began to explore him, curving and smoothing over his hair, his back, waist, buttocks and legs. The sound of material ripping as the left leg of his trousers were delicately torn open from hip to knee by one claw had him rolling onto his back to glare up at a pair of thoughtful blue eyes.

The long clawed fingers lowered again, this time to his chest where they carefully stroked over chilled skin and hair.

"What are you trying to figure out?" Van Helsing asked quietly, frowning up at the wolf. He saw the long velvet ears cant toward him and his dark eyebrows rose. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

The wolf blinked, the blue eyes assumed an innocent, curious air that reminded the hunter of a beagle owned by one of the brothers back in Rome who invariably got the same look when chastised for stealing from the table.

Determinedly, the hunter rose to his elbows, and then pulling himself back slightly, rose to sit before the wolf.

"I miss Carl," Van Helsing said as he carefully reached up to touch and then stroke the wolf's muzzle. The fur was short and soft beneath his palm, like thick warm velvet. "Carl's handsome enough if you discount the hair cut—I suppose that explains why you made such an impressive werewolf. But I still can't get used to actually touching a werewolf who's not trying to tear out my throat." He reached further and smoothed his hand over the wolf's forehead, stroking sideways over unexpected whiskers. Reflexively, the blue eyes closed and he touched the soft lids and long pale lashes.

A large furry hand rose to take Van Helsing's and the werewolf's eyes opened to look down at their joined fingers. Tentatively, the clawed fingers straightened against Van Helsing's, pressing palm to palm. The werewolf's hand was expectedly much larger. The long claws were a dark almost blue color with a streak of deep rose running through the bottom middle of each. The palms and pads were thick and leathery but not rough. As they held their hands together, the wolf's fingers curled, gently dragging the claws down over Van Helsing's palm and wrists.

The hunter shivered, pulling away to curl his hands into hard fists; a huffed exhalation of air brought his frowning gaze up to the wolf's. "Hmm, so you know what you're doing? I suppose werewolves aren't ticklish? Carl certainly is—right along the ribs..."

Keeping an eye on the wolf's saber-lined mouth, Van Helsing leaned forward to place his hands on the deep broad chest. The heat of the furred skin was amazing. The musculature and form were more human than lupine; running his hands over the pectoral muscles, Van Helsing grimaced slightly. "I hope Carl doesn't remember this...it could be hard to explain."

Whether the friar would approve or not, it was evident the wolf did.

Van Helsing's eyebrows shot upwards and he felt an uncharacteristic blush heat his cheeks. "Not ticklish then, but it definitely got a reaction. I'm assuming everything is proportionately bigger...still, no wonder the barmaids never expect a tip."

One long finger tracing down Van Helsing's inner thigh was seized and pushed away.

"Sorry, you're not my type," he explained as he slid away. The werewolf allowed it, but there was a decided light of enjoyment in the blue eyes that made the hunter wonder.

* * *

Within the circle of trees, the Other One now lay on her side panting. She watched the One and the man explore one another in the moonlight and her chest vibrated continuously with a deep growl. She felt the hatred of all things human deep within her rise and clamor to kill the man, but her body was too weak. It wouldn't obey her commands. She was therefore forced to lie where she had fallen and watch the One and the man be at ease with and groom one another. She could smell their pleasure with each other from where she lay and her lips peeled away from her teeth in a white snarl of thwarted anger. 

Long ago she had admitted to herself that she was different from most of her kind. Her pack, her litter mates and the Old Ones, all tolerated man as a necessary evil. Occasionally, new blood was needed to strengthen the lines that had become brittle and weak with age. Such a thing had tied her to the One. It had been difficult for her at first; she had loathed the sight of the man when she had first seen him. She had refused to allow her human to emerge and had therefore been kept from sight, until the humans had left. Later, when he returned, when his blood had been infused with the wolf's, she had allowed herself to hope that he could be taught to please her. And she _had_ been pleased with him. But he was a puppy compared to the One she herself had selected.

Her eyes turned helplessly back to the big male and an eager whimper escaped her. He was beautiful, powerful, and capable of effortlessly dominating her. He fulfilled her strongest desire for her mate--he would be able to survive being outcast with her. Together, they would start their own pack.

Her thoughts were abruptly scattered as a strong shudder seized her body, leaving her writhing with her legs helplessly paddling among the muddy leaves. Her eyesight dimmed and the fire that burned continually in them dimmed as well. She turned her eyes to her chosen One and wished that he were nearer, but she couldn't allow him to see her, to see her human. She had no desire to have her human and his meet. Normally, this would not be a problem; she could control her human to make certain that she kept well out of sight. But with the new fuzziness that seized her thoughts came an unfamiliar fear—what if she couldn't control her human this time? Now, when it mattered most?

Daylight was not far off. She turned her eyes to the clearing that reflected the light of the gleaming moon as it began its slow sultry descent. On the other horizon the sky was set ablaze with the arrival of day's flaming lord. With the arrival of the sun, the remaining ember of orange fire died from the Other One's eyes as her last thought of the One scattered to the winds.

* * *

The One turned from the human to look toward the burnished horizon, his muzzle lifting to scent the coming morning. This was his second sleep, but it would be the first that he faced of his own volition. He was aware of the human, the one who fit the sound _Carl_ that kept coming from the dark One's lips. He didn't like the sound, but the dark One was important and he needed Carl. 

The One allowed a sigh to huff from his lips as he settled himself on the ground. He scented the dark One's surprise as he laid his head in the man's lap. He would have told the dark One..._Gabriel_...that he did this because it was important to the human who was about to emerge, because it would make the change easier, less painful. Humans were unable to understand scents, though. They relied on the noises they made with their lips and even then they only understood their own noises. Carl would have to explain.

The One looked up one last time at the dark One, his soft lip fluttering in a small snarling whine.

The man's lips curved, exposing white teeth as his hand ran soothingly over the One's fur and he murmured nonsensical sounds that nonetheless eased the One's passage to forgetfulness and ebony black sleep.

* * *

"_No!"_

Carl jerked upright, flailing with both hands.

Van Helsing ducked with practiced ease, and then seized Carl's face, turning it to his own.

"Carl! It's alright!"

The friar's blue eyes were almost black, and he blinked painfully at the rising light that illuminated his friend's face and the patch of woods they sat in. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and cracked as through from long disuse.

"Oh my God, what a horrible nightmare!" the friar moaned, dropping his face into his hands.

"Nightmare?" Van Helsing asked, his hands stroking soothingly over Carl's shoulders.

A blue eye peered out from between the fingers to fix beseechingly on Van Helsing. "Yes, right, a nightmare! Please tell me it was a nightmare—lie to me if you must!"

"Er...Carl..."

"_Noooo_!" Carl moaned, and the blue eye disappeared behind the friar's hands again.

Van Helsing sighed as he gathered the pale shaking form of his friend to his chest, patting Carl's back. He remembered the success he'd had making soothingl noises to the wolf and tried it with the friar; while they sounded silly to his ears, he felt Carl relaxing and turning a cold moist nose into his neck. Grimacing at the nose, he continued the sounds and the stroking. It occurred to him that sooner or later it would dawn on the friar anew that he was naked; it seemed a very good idea to put that time off for as long as possible.

"What do you remember?"

"Nothing! I don't want to remember! I want to forget!"

"Carl..."

"Van Helsing!" Both eyes emerged this time as the friar struggled upright to fix his friend with a glare filled with displeasure. "I've just woken up from a horrifying nightmare only to find out it's not a dream but reality. And what's worse, it's going to happen again! For the sake of my sanity, I'm begging you! Just let me pretend! It was a dream—just a dream..."

The hunter sighed and nodded as he pulled the friar back down onto his chest. "You're right, Carl, only a dream."

"Thank God," Carl sighed and went limp for all of five seconds before stirring, his voice coming to the hunter curiously. "Van Helsing...why are you half naked?"

"Do you want the truth? Or do you want me to lie to you some more?"

More seconds elapsed, then, "Just tell me one thing...am I only partly naked? Or very naked?"

"Very."

"Oh. How embarrassing. Thank God this is a dream."

Van Helsing snorted, shook his head, and hugged Carl hard.

* * *

The girl rose shakily to her feet and blinked at the sunlight slanting through the leaves of the surrounding trees. Lifting her face, she sniffed and found it was full of the scent of growth and decay. The air of the hollow tree was moist with the past rain; it felt good on her skin. 

Looking down at herself she ran her hands hesitantly over her hairless skin and wondered at the fact that she could do so without the disgust she usually felt. She raised her hands to her face and felt her features—flat, snub, unfamiliar. She waited for the usual attendant horror she always experienced and was startled that it didn't come.

She was a human—the weakest, most useless perversion there was; her own vilification sounded hollow to her. It lacked the centuries' old assurity that it normally carried.

What was wrong with her? Where was the wolf?

She was alone, as she had not ever been in her entire life. Terrified at the silence within her own mind, she looked about her wildly, clawing at the dark hair that fell over her eyes to obscure her vision.

She heard them then, the soft murmur of voices, and she fell down into a crouch and then on all fours. Carefully, quietly, she crawled forward, her ears straining to catch the words spoken as she peered through the tangle of undergrowth. Her jaw fell open as she looked out into the sunlit clearing and saw two humans...two men. One dark, one fair...she checked again and licked her lips. One very fair. He was naked, like she was. She looked her fill and enjoyed the sight.

They were both familiar to her, but no reassuring memories rushed to her aid. She blinked and chewed her lip as she dredged at and flogged her mind for any clues. The inner voice that should have told her who they were, and what to do about them, remained obstinately silent. She realized that she would have to make up her own mind, follow her own dictates.

Unfamiliar muscles pulled at her mouth and she found that she liked the sensation as her lips curved upward.

She rose to her feet then, and delicately, carefully stepped out of the circle of trees into the sunlight.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: The end approaches

**Notes: Special Thanks to Mannariel**, who reminded me of the sheer joy in the crafting of words. Their beauty can be inspiring and their effects profound. To the readers: The end is fast approaching. In another one or two chapters, this story will be done. I'm not sure if there will be a sequel or if I'll let it stand as it ends. I think I'll leave that up to you folks. Let me know if you want it to continue past this story or if you're satisfied with the end as it occurs. Thanks!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! _Thank you very much to Nina, GlasTriskellion, Mannariel, .xiXmoonofdespairXix., Demus, Scap and JustinetheBean. I'm so tickled that you're enjoying Carl and Van Helsing's interactions! It's a hoot to write them! I hope you enjoy what this new chapter has to offer of both Carl and the Other One._

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 9**

He hadn't been expecting her. He held his breath, fearful that she would hear him, smell him. She was wonderful! Her skin was almost translucent; she'd probably never been exposed to sunlight except for brief periods. Long dark hair hung over her dark eyes in a wild and tangled mass, but it shone in the early morning light. Her somewhat coarse features weren't beautiful, not really even pretty, but she carried herself with such a wild uncompromising directness that it took his breath away. And looking at her bare body, with her bulging belly ripe and heavy with young, he felt himself grow hard. She was the answer to all of his troubles. She would prove the greatest prize of all.

Charles sunk lower in the underbrush as he considered how best to accomplish his plans.

* * *

Both Van Helsing and Carl were aware of the female's emergence; they felt an almost electric shock course through their veins and both men lifted their faces to the wind, scenting it. As one, they turned to look at the woman who emerged from the dark circle of trees to stand before them naked and watchful. Their reactions to the sight of her were markedly different. 

Van Helsing felt the hair on his body prickle and rise as an unconscious growl vibrated within his chest. His hazel eyes narrowed as he felt the cold wash of evil settle on his skin like rancid oil. To his eyes, the woman before him was arresting but hardly threatening. To his senses, however—if he had his crossbow, he would have shot her where she stood.

Carl's nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered closed as he pulled her scent deeply into his lungs. Without conscious thought, he rose in one motion from his seat upon the ground and stood before her, his eyes now open and fastened to hers. She had oddly colored eyes—a type of amber color that he had never seen before. But it wasn't the color that arrested him however, but rather the sheer uninhibited pleasure he saw in them. He saw her eyes drop slowly down over his body, knew that she saw him as naked as she was—and abruptly came to his senses.

Van Helsing's dark brow rose and his mouth quirked slightly as his friar abruptly did an about-face that would have put a spinning top to shame. His eyes slid across to the female and the smile left his face as he saw her lick her lips as she got a good look at the back of Carl. Her hand smoothed over her breasts to her sloping belly as she walked delicately over the damp ground toward them. Her small feet stirred the fallen leaves with a rustling sound, and the rich black earth clung to her white skin like a lover. Van Helsing rose at her approach, and moved to stand in front of Carl just as she reached them.

She wasn't pleased. He saw the amber of her eyes grow lighter with an internal fire; her hand rose, fingers curled into claws as she slapped at him. Her jagged broken fingernails barely touched his cheek before he caught her wrist and twisted it to the side, forcing a cry like a wounded animal from her.

Carl whirled, his wide blue eyes taking in the confrontation, and then dropping to her swollen belly. In the next instant, he seized Van Helsing's arm, pulling hard on it.

"Stop it! You can see she's with child!"

"She is evil."

"But her children aren't!"

"How do you know?" the hunter growled, but he allowed Carl to pull him back from the woman. Once released, she fell to her knees upon the ground, holding her wrist and crooning as she rocked.

"I don't _know_," Carl huffed as he stared up into Van Helsing's eyes with righteous indignation. "But doesn't the fact there is a doubt entitle her to the benefit of it?"

The hunter's dark face held no pity, no compassion softened his gaze as he looked down at the woman on the ground. "Carl, this may be the one time we can deal with her. Vermin gave her an antidote, but there's no telling if it will keep the wolf at bay. If she turns again, I can't fight the wolf, I don't have any weapons."

Carl blinked, dumbstruck, as he realized the female now had the chance he himself had hoped for—the chance of resuming a normal human life. "_She_ received the antidote?" He felt an unaccustomed bitterness flare within his belly as he spoke the words, burning its way up his throat until he had to swallow hard. Clenching his fists until his nails bit into his palms, he shook his head. "And what if she isn't a wolf any longer? She's had the antidote…she could be free of the curse now. And through her blood, perhaps her children are as well."

"It's not simply the werewolf I hunt, Carl! I hunt evil, in whatever form it comes. This woman is…"

"Yes, I heard you," Carl interrupted sharply. "But unless you can tell me with certainty that her young are as well, you cannot kill her! That's why we came here! To test the antidote on the innocent and perhaps to save them." The friar huffed, out of breath. His face was red with passion as he glared up at the hunter. One hand thrust outward to point vehemently at the kneeling woman. "Well here's our chance!"

Van Helsing shook his head sharply and turned away. Behind him, Carl took a deep breath, calming himself.

"I don't understand," Carl murmured softly, for the hunter's ears alone. "You've always said you wouldn't kill if you didn't have to. You gave Frankenstein a chance when no one else would have. Why are you fighting this?"

Van Helsing closed his eyes as the question repeated within his mind. It wasn't enough that his antipathy toward the woman was instinctive, that all of his instincts told him to deal with her before she transformed again. Carl was right; he couldn't kill the female without hurting the young. And he wasn't sure of them. He should have been championing their cause—why wasn't he?

Behind him, Carl knelt awkwardly on the ground before the woman, acutely conscious of his undressed state as he reached for her wrist. She snatched it from his fingertips, but when her eyes raised to his and she saw who was accosting her, the glare of anger abruptly faded from her eyes to be replaced by a languid sensuality that made Carl's mouth go dry. It was she who reached out then, to take his hand in hers and to pull it to her wrist where she coaxed his fingers to stroke over her skin.

Her skin was flawlessly smooth and cool to the touch. He wondered if she were cold and then thought better of asking. He had nothing to offer her and given Van Helsing's reaction, the hunter was hardly likely to sacrifice his clothing to her.

As he pondered these questions with some relief for their distraction, the girl watched him in turn, her pale lips turning up in a minxish smile of pleasure. She liked his face, his eyes, and his lips that were the color of the palest pink shades in the sky and moved as though he were talking to the wind or within himself. She wondered if they were as warm as they looked, if they tasted as pleasantly as they looked. It didn't occur to her to see him as 'handsome' because she had no knowledge of beauty outside of that ascribed to wolves, specifically werewolves. But she was honest with herself in admitting handsome or not, he pleased her. She enjoyed his looks, his scent, his touch. She wanted to touch him in return, to taste him.

The amber eyes blinked as she realized she was hungry.

A dull rumble from Carl's stomach announced he was as well.

"I don't think we've eaten for a good 24 hours," Carl announced. We'll need to manage some sort of hunting."

"I'll go," Van Helsing murmured.

"I can go with you," Carl suggested, looking up at his friend only to see the hunter rebuff him with a shake of his head.

"We have no weapons, so I'll have to trap whatever I find. It's best if I go alone. Besides, you seem to have your hands full right now."

"Oh...yes," Carl said, somewhat flustered as he turned back to the girl. "I suppose one of us should stay..."

"It's alright, Carl." Van Helsing's small tight smile down at his friend grew warmer and wider as he saw the worry in the blue eyes give way to relief and gratitude. "Stay and try to communicate with her. Just..."

Carl's blond brows rose. "Just?"

"Be careful."

"Of course! I'm always careful—spun glass, remember?"

"_I_ remember," the hunter grunted, but he kept the comment to himself and, against his better judgment, left the friar and the girl alone.

Carl sighed as Van Helsing disappeared from sight into the close dark press of trees beyond. He could certainly empathize with the hunter, but he had no idea how to ease Van Helsing's mind. At least the girl was harmless during the day. In her current position, she could hardly hurt either one of them.

A small finger traced up Carl's thigh, sliding rapidly between to stroke him intimately.

"Oh! Nononono!" Carl shuddered so that his teeth rattled like castanets as he took firm possession of the wandering hand. The girl smiled at him, a sultry secret smile that made him feel hot all over. Carl was no stranger to the concept of love-making. In fact, he liked to think of it as part of his job—to spread love among his fellow men. True, he had never thought of sharing that love with Van Helsing in quite the same way as he did with, say, the local bar maids, but then to each was given the fullest measure of what they needed most. Van Helsing needed his support. The bar maids needed support of a slightly different sort.

Another finger wandered over his thigh and Carl closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as he reluctantly captured it before it could get too far. When he spoke, his voice quavered ridiculously and he all but groaned at the knowing look in the girl's amber eyes.

"Now...don't let the clothes...or the lack thereof...fool you. I'm a friar, we don't do that sort of thing I'm afraid. Well, alright to be strictly honest we _do_ do that sort of thing...fairly often...discreetly of course...ah...where was I?"

A slightly pointed pink tongue escaped the girl's lips to wet them. Carl watched as if mesmerized. His eyes got bigger as she leaned forward, her smile widening, her lips opening as her pink tongue emerged again to delicately flicker over his own lips.

"Ooohhh," Carl groaned, and helplessly leaned forward.

Her tongue darted out to lap at his lips again, pressing slightly harder, asking to enter his mouth.

A groan from the depths of Carl's soul rattled up as he slowly forced himself to lean back like an arthritic old man; his hands still holding hers rose to push her back. His entire body flushed pink as he licked his lips and tasted her upon them. The friar's resolve was wavering as other things were firming up; he cursed aloud, luridly, and found comfort in the blasphemies.

"I...I don't think...actually I'm certain this isn't a good idea," he said, frowning at the girl. "Normally you would find me more than amenable," he assured her regretfully. "In fact, it's a safe bet we'd be sharing a smoke by now..."

The pointed pink tongue emerged again to stroke over her pale lips as she rose from her shins to kneel before him. Holding his wary gaze, she gently freed her hands from his and raised them to place them upon her own body. She swayed slightly as her palms slid down over the smooth pale skin of her chest onto her full breasts, then under them, lifting them.

A faint '_eep_' escaped the friar as her meaning became unmistakably clear.

"No thank you," Carl squeaked breathlessly. "Wouldn't want to deprive the kiddies! Er...I'm going to go help Van Helsing... He's lost without me you know!"

He suited words to action as he abruptly rolled up onto his feet with more agility than he would have thought possible. Adrenaline in massive amounts was pumping through his veins, fueling his muscles and speeding his heart up for a flight response. The quantity abruptly doubled as her eyes rose with him to fasten upon the obvious signs of his peaked interest that now bobbed in front of her eyes.

"Oh my God," Carl groaned as he saw her lips part as she leaned forward. Cravenly, he turned and fled into the trees.

Left alone, the girl settled down upon the ground in the warm spot left by Carl's body. She could wait; she was confident now that her own hunt would be successful.

* * *

Carl heaved a sigh of relief as he entered the trees; he wiped his forehead on his forearm, grimacing at the wet sheen that came away. He'd always secretly prided himself upon his way with women. There was no doubt they enjoyed his attentions as much as he enjoyed giving them. Why this particular woman should have such a profound effect upon him, though, was a mystery. Outside of her presence, he was able to shrug off her actions with a philosophical wistfulness; he wasn't unduly affected by her efforts at seduction any more than any other man might have been. But as he closed his eyes and remembered her kneeling before him, it was as if his senses were overwhelmed. He could remember the smell of her long hair, her skin, the cool touch of her fingers, and the taste of her…he felt goose bumps rise upon his skin and shook himself hard. 

Something beyond the man within him recognized her desire and was compelled by it. Carl's logical mind could easily picture why this might happen, presenting him with a distasteful picture of a female dog in heat and the inevitable consequences when placed in the proximity of a male dog.

"I'm **_not_** an animal!" he growled as shame and anger flooded his mind and caused his body to shudder with mortification. "_I hate this_!" He screamed his anger to the blue sky above and the absent moon, then cringed as he realized he wasn't alone any longer. Slowly, against his will, his eyes slid to the side to see Van Helsing standing within the trees not more than a yard distant. He must have come running upon hearing Carl's shout.

"I…I'm fine," Carl mumbled, frowning down at his naked body before ineffectually crossing his arms over his chest. "Though I could do with a robe…a pair of pants…I'd even settle for a hanky."

"Sorry, no hanky," Van Helsing said as he moved closer. "We could try fashioning something from leaves, I suppose. Isn't that what Adam did?"

"Well…yes," Carl admitted thoughtfully as he glanced about him hopefully. There certainly was no lack of greenery, the stuff seemed to grow a foot with every passing moment. He sighed. "Of course, there aren't likely to be any fig trees about. In fact, with my luck, anything we'd find would be poison ivy."

Van Helsing didn't bother to join Carl's search; his gaze remained steady upon his friend though he did shrug. "Don't look to me. I don't have a lot of call for botany in my line of work."

"Mmm, me either…usually." At last, Carl's gaze rose to Van Helsing's and a lopsided smile of resignation curled his lips. "I suppose you heard me shout?"

"Hard to miss it."

"Ah. Yes, you would have a point there."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not really. Of course, having said that, I know that I'll have to."

"Carl, you don't _have_ to do anything…."

"Nooo, I think maybe I do have to discuss this with you," Carl said resignedly and rolled his eyes heavenward as though praying for a last minute reprieve. No divine intervention came to his rescue however and reluctantly his eyes dropped from the blue heavens to the concerned hazel gaze of his friend. The day was advancing at a rapid rate and within the shadows of the wide-spread boughs above them, the air was chilly. He was grateful for the chill--at least the cold would save him from possibly embarrassing himself any further with an inappropriate erection during their discussion. "Ahh, well, I think we might…er…have a problem with the girl."

Carl cringed inwardly when one of the hunter's dark brows rose in a sardonic arch.

"Just one problem?"

"It's quite a large problem."

"Oh good. It's been quiet for all of five minutes…I was afraid all the excitement was over." With a sigh, Van Helsing made his way to Carl, took his arm firmly in hand, and pulled the friar to a fallen tree covered in moss. A slight push convinced the friar to sit. Another push reseated him when the friar would have sprung up after discovering the moss was damp and slimy. Van Helsing then leaned down and catching hold of his torn pant leg, proceeded to rip it further until he succeeded in separating the lower leg from what was left. He tossed the scrap of cloth into Carl's lap, and smiled at Carl's fervent if somewhat sardonic thanks.

Seating himself on the log (and wincing at the clammy feel of it himself) he faced the friar expectantly.

"Alright. What's our problem?"

A huge sigh gusted from Carl's lips as he steeled himself and turned toward the hunter. He couldn't quite manage to meet the man's gaze, though, so instead concentrated upon his chest. It was a nice chest. He'd spent some of the most unexpectedly relaxed moments upon it and he found himself wondering at that behavior as well. He'd never been the sort to cuddle or accept being held easily. Certainly a pat on the back now and then was always appreciated, but to be held for hours at a time? Even now, he was appalled to admit that he craved the closeness. An idle thought strayed through his haze of mortification—Van Helsing didn't seem like the sort to devote large quantities of time in close contact either. At least, not with him. Was that significant? And did it somehow make his…neediness…at little less egregious?

"Carl?"

Biting his lower lip thoughtfully, Carl began to speak slowly, as if testing out a theory aloud. "What do you know about wolves? Is it true that they are social creatures? That they'll inevitably pack, given the chance?"

"I don't know. I've heard it."

"So have I," Carl nodded and hitched slightly closer to Van Helsing as his thoughts took flight and his excited gaze rose with them to meet the hunter's. "I think it's a natural behavior for wolves to want to form a sort of close-knit protective social group. Within that social group, I'm certain that there are different levels of intimacy: dominance versus submissive, expected behaviors that are tolerated or rebuked. From what I've observed of canine behavior, it's not uncommon for them to recognize each other somehow, to assume a friendship or enmity based on some hidden signal—scent I suppose, though it could be other things such as …."

"Carl," Van Helsing shifted on his seat uncomfortably. A strong breeze curled about them, raising gooseflesh and tousling their hair. Distractedly, the hunter pushed the dark hair that tangled in his lashes from his eyes as he carefully adjusted his seat on the wet moss with a grimace of distaste. "This log is better than sitting on the ground, but not by much. Can you come to the point sometime soon?"

The friar's huff of intellectual exasperation caused his bangs to flutter about his forehead as he eyed the hunter with impatience. "I _am_ making my point! We have both been infected by lycanthropy, which has its genesis somewhere within the canine family. Werewolves don't just have a passing resemblance to canines—they evidently stem from them. Possibly as far back as history goes, there may have been werewolves. And they've adapted and changed over time, becoming more human, but still they retain canine characteristics. Those characteristics include some very basic needs and behaviors. For instance…"

Setting his jaw firmly, Carl reached out to place one hand upon Van Helsing's chest, his palm flat against the warm skin.

Without hesitation, the hunter's hand rose to cover Carl's, his long fingers stroking warmly over the friar's. Carl raised an eyebrow and nodded as Van Helsing frowned when he realized what he'd done and released the other man's hand.

"Wolves pack for protection and for companionship. They crave it, need it. Close personal contact—I'm certain that they enjoy grooming each other and cuddling as much if not more than the average domestic dog does. And as you know—pet a dog and usually he'll lick your hand. He's responding to what he perceives as grooming."

Van Helsing's gaze dropped from Carl's then as he considered his hands lying on his lap. He could still feel Carl's warmth within his palm; he watched as his fingers closed over it. He couldn't have said if it was in an effort to retain the warmth, or simply as a reaction to it.

"The antidote, it cures the lycanthropy, but leaves the basic instincts behind," Van Helsing murmured and heard Carl's rueful assent.

"I'm sorry. I really did have hopes for that serum."

Van Helsing smiled then, a small flickering of his lips that lightened his eyes with humor. "Well, I can deal with the occasional urge to hug you, Carl, if you can handle it."

Carl chuckled but he reached out and tapped the hunter's knee, shaking his head when Van Helsing's gaze rose to his again. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. If you think about it, canine behavior isn't limited to the simple urge to puppy pile."

"'Puppy pile'? Is that the technical term for it?"

"Hah ha--call it what you like. But we aren't simply going to be fighting off the urge for an occasional hug. The need to touch, to groom, to taste and to…er…well, _mate_ I suppose is the best term for it…"

The hunter's snort caught Carl's abashed attention and he scowled at the wide grin that bloomed over the hunter's face.

"Are you saying we're going to hump each other's legs, Carl?"

"Well, I don't know what _you_ might have the urge for," Carl retorted acerbically, "but I suspect that I'll have to fight pretty strenuously to keep from accepting our female guest's advances while I retain my human form. As a werewolf…I...I don't know what will happen."

The last was said in a barely audible whisper as Carl's skin turned a brilliant red and his eyes dropped like stones to fix on Van Helsing's chest again. For a moment, the only sound were those of the forest—the wave-like rustle produced as the leaves twisted upon the wind and rubbed voluptuously against one another and the slight groan and creak of the swaying branches. When the deep rasping growl came, Carl wasn't sure that he'd heard it correctly; he didn't have to ponder it long because it repeated, more loudly this time.

Somewhat shocked, he raised his gaze to see Van Helsing's face had contorted into a dark angry grimace. The hunter's gaze was fixed over Carl's shoulder, in the direction of their limited camp.

"Er…Van Helsing?"

"Why aren't I affected?"

Carl blinked, his mouth dropping open into an 'O' of surprised bafflement. "I suppose it's possible that with the antidote, the urge isn't so strong."

"But she had the antidote and she doesn't seem to be suffering from any maidenly reticence."

Carl sighed as he wearily rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. Maybe it's because she had Vermin's antidote instead of mine. I'm certain that he had to make due on some of the ingredients, and he hardly had the proper setup for precise measurements. Or possibly it could be because she's been a werewolf for so long. She's never had the opportunity to learn the kind of behavior we would define as decorous. The habits of the wolf are second nature to her now."

Abruptly, Van Helsing thrust himself up from the log. "Let's get back to camp. I trapped some hares; we'll need to start a fire unless you fancy eating them raw."

Carl shuddered as he rose as well. "Ugh! No thank you! I never liked steak tartar and this appeals even less! Just…let me get something to use as a belt for this…er…cloth."

Van Helsing walked back to the trees he had emerged from and salvaged the brace of hares he'd left hanging on the tree. He returned to see Carl fussing with his new and very scanty attire. The scrap of cloth didn't hide much.

"Well, I can safely say I definitely miss my old scratchy robe," the friar said ruefully as he tweaked the cloth only to have to tweak it back.

Van Helsing walked by him, his grim reply coming back to Carl's ears faintly. "Well, at least you won't have to worry about fighting off any urges tonight."

"What? Urges? Why not?"

"Poison ivy—you're standing in it."

* * *

The female snarled and viciously snapped at the hand that hovered unwarily before her. It was jerked back with an oath, then returned to strike her so hard she tasted blood. Ruthlessly, she strangled the shameful whimper of pain that tightened her throat as her amber eyes rose to fix upon the man standing above her. 

He was familiar to her; she knew his scent well as the man who had originally captured both the dark One and her mate. A smile curled over her bloody lips to expose the tips of her white teeth as she studied Charles. He had caught her unawares and after beating her until she was near unconsciousness, he'd gagged her mouth with a foul cloth and bound her arms with his leather belt. He'd then dragged her writhing body over his shoulder and carried her from the glen.

She could smell the pleasure in him, the lust as he looked at her, and her lips curved even more. The haze had passed from her mind and she had firm control of her human once again. The girl was afraid and in pain. She relinquished her place easily as she cowered like a weak mouse before the man. The Other One, however, was familiar with pain—both the receiving as well as the giving of it. The man would do what he desired whether she cringed from him or fought him. He had power over her, for now.

Her eyes slid past his face and his pale eager eyes to the deeper color of the sky above. It was growing late. She could taste the cool silky presence of night that rode upon the wind now. Soon her true mistress would rise into the sky again and with her advent, the Other One would instruct this man in the art of receiving pain.

Her gaze dropped back to Charles' as her smile widened into a feral grin of anticipation.

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: The end approaches

**Notes: The next chapter will probably be the last for this story. I hope that you enjoy this new chapter!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! _Thank you to Milady Dragon for your review—I hope that you enjoy this chapter!_

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 10**

Carl followed Van Helsing from the trees with a hopping stride as he lifted first one foot, then the other to examine the soles of his feet for telltale blisters or reddening. Thus far, his anxious scrutiny hadn't found anything worse than muddy feet and the remains of a squashed caterpillar.

"Van Helsing…I don't see any blisters…are you sure that was poison ivy?"

He paused, standing on one foot, the other caught in his two hands and canted at the knee at an uncomfortable angle upward to expose the sole of his foot. Despite his question and the ludicrous pose, no answer was forthcoming; he looked up, frowning.

"Van Helsing? Are you listening?"

A hand suddenly descended over Carl's mouth as a rough arm grabbed him about the waist from behind. His shocked '_Eep_'! was stifled behind a sweaty palm as he was pulled back hard into a solid body and a fetid wash of sour breath poured over his ear and cheek.

"Well now, this is better than those dowdy robes…."

Without thought, Carl's elbow that was closest to the body behind him pistoned viciously backward, the sharp pointed bone burying itself deep in the unprotected gut of his attacker. He heard the _whoosh_ of breath and felt the arms about him slacken; immediately, he rammed his elbow backwards again, this time slightly upwards, and felt it impact against something soft. Judging by the howling now going on, he'd scored an eye.

He didn't wait to count coup, but instead ran as fast as he was able toward the tree line and the small clear area beyond.

He broke through the trees in time to see Van Helsing fighting with four men, all of whom seemed to be doing their utmost to drag him to the ground. Without hesitation, Carl launched himself into the air and crashed down on the closest two, falling with them to the leaf bed with enough force to spray leaves and mud in all directions. He heard shouting, but he didn't process the words, only the tone and that was decidedly belligerent. Both legs shot outward to catch one sprawling attacker solidly between the legs with his heels and he felt a hard shot of pleasure at the man's high pitched scream.

His other antagonist had rallied a little faster and now fell on the friar, attempting to pin his upper body and arms to the ground. Without hesitation, Carl opened his mouth and then closed his teeth on the nearest available flesh—which turned out to be a nose. With gusto, Carl ground and gnashed his teeth and was rewarded again with more screams. He counted to five and released the nose and as the head reared back, he thrust his dirty fingers upward into the tearing brown eyes above him.

"Aaagh! My eyes! The little _&!#$&_ blinded me!"

A hand grabbed Carl's ankle and he rolled up, his fist already cocking back, when he saw Van Helsing's face, almost hidden by disheveled leaf-strewn hair.

"Carl! Get up, you need to…"

"_Stop..right..there_!"

The sound of a pistol cocking was deafening; both the friar and the hunter froze, only their eyes turned to track the sound of the voice and the approaching footsteps.

"It's a pleasure to see you two again." The hunters' leader greeted the two men on the ground with a broad smile that did not touch his dark eyes. "I admit to not being surprised, though. We went back to the circus and found it in disarray. It appears the tales of the bodies you leave in your wake were true."

Both Carl and Van Helsing subsided to the ground as the leader moved into view; in his hand was a very large, very ugly gun. It took some doing to get past the seemingly huge muzzle to see the man beyond it.

Carl gasped as he recognized the coat and hat the man wore, he'd seen them so many times before it wasn't difficult to place them now. Beside him, Van Helsing's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he met the other man's eyes.

"Do you like my new clothes?" the leader asked with a smirk, one hand rising to adjust the hat upon his head, giving it an insolent tilt as he winked at Van Helsing. "The day I met you was a red letter day, mate! First Charles' money for you, then the new duds, and now I'll have the pleasure of collecting on you again. The question is, whose offering the biggest reward for you? Can't just settle for the first taker—there's so many to choose from! Perhaps it would behoove us to open the floor to a friendly bidding competition? Winner gets to stretch your neck on the gallows?"

From behind them, Carl heard rustling sounds and moaning as their previous foes climbed to their feet. The leader sneered as he shook his head.

"Six men, with the advantage of surprise, and I'm the only one standing. You lot are a pathetic bunch of pantywaists! Now see if you can bind their arms without making a complete bollix of it! And you two--" the leader gestured with the gun at first Van Helsing, then Carl, "I'd advise you not to test me. It wouldn't take a crack shot to blow either one of you in two. Just take it nice and easy and let these idiots do their job and everyone will be the happier for it."

Carl licked his lips as his eyes darted to Van Helsing; the dark hunter made no sign of movement but his hazel eyes never left the other man. Carl was familiar with the look in Van Helsing's eyes, he'd seen it before, when they had faced monsters in Transylvania. The leader had made a very bad choice in his decision not to kill Van Helsing; something inside Carl, something dark and savage, felt a shocking pleasure at the thought of what was going to happen to these men.

Rough hands seized Van Helsing first, yanking his arms back as a large rusty knife was pressed to his throat. A dirty head of red hair appeared at Van Helsing's shoulder as his hands and arms were tied with thick rough hemp. Carl could see the red hair was matted with blood—when the hair was abruptly shaken back he sucked in his breath at the disfiguring slash wound that cut through the eyebrow, cheek and chin, allowing deep red blood to run thickly down. Within the crimson welter, he glimpsed the graveyard pallor of exposed bone.

"I should kill you right here!" the redhead growled, his words oddly slurred and thick. "Posters say dead or alive—I say we cut the risk and take the lesser money. The pleasure of slittin' your throat would more than make up for the lost coin!"

"Fortunately, it's not up to you," the leader barked, stopping the redhead's threats cold.

A hand knotted itself in Van Helsing's dark hair and yanked his head back, baring his throat to the hovering blade. The redhead looked up then, meeting the other man's eye, sneering at him with a blatant dare. Both men were motionless, poised on the knife edge of action, each waiting for the other to flinch first.

Carl breath stuttered through his lips in a garbled stream of words as his eyes darted between them. "Wwwwait! There's…there's someone else…you could get more…if you keep him alive! Much much more!"

Two sets of eyes blinked and Carl sagged as the gun turned to him and the knife withdrew from Van Helsing's throat.

"More? How much more?" the leader asked. His rasping voice held a doubtful note to it, but Carl saw the gleam of avarice in the murky brown eyes grow stronger.

"Carl, be quiet!" Van Helsing growled only to have the redhead clap a dirty hand over his mouth and bring the knife back to his throat.

"If you bite me, pretty, I'll cut you ear to ear! You be quiet and let the holy boy speak."

The leader chuckled then, a short sharp sound that made the hair on Carl's arms and the back of his neck rise. "Believe him, mate. Georgie here loves to see his own face in the mirror—course, you've kind of ruined that for him now. I suspect he'd like nothing better than to return the favor." 'Georgie' spat a thick wad of red spittle that splattered over the leaves at the leader's feet but the dark man only smiled as his eyes turned back to Carl.

"Go on. Give us your story, but keep it short. And make sure that it's true, boy. If I find out you've lied to me, I'll let Georgie have some fun with your friend before we turn him over to the highest bidder."

Carl nodded, swallowing hard as he did so. "The church—the Inquisition. Van Helsing has been infected with werewolf venom—the Inquisition would pay much more if you brought him to them!"

"Bloody hell!" Georgie breathed as he looked at the leader and then Carl. "I thought you were his friend?"

"I am," Carl said firmly, wincing as Van Helsing, ignoring the knife at his throat, growled against the hand over his mouth and fought against the ropes about his arms. Evidently, the friar's suggestion had deflated Georgie's anger because the redhead abruptly thrust the knife through his belt in order to use both arms to hold Van Helsing.

The leader's dark eyes narrowed as he watched Van Helsing then eyed Carl. "Why would you turn him over to the Inquisition? It's no secret what they do to werewolves—he'd be better off if Georgie cut his throat."

"I'm a friar," Carl reminded the other man coldly. "It's possible I can intercede…"

Georgie roared as Van Helsing slammed his head backwards against the man's nose, viciously flattening it. The instant the redhead's arms loosened, Van Helsing lunged, not toward the leader, but toward Carl, slamming his shoulder into Carl's chest and carrying them both down to the ground.

Carl wheezed as Van Helsing's weight settled over him and he found himself face-to-face with the hunter.

"Keep them talking," the hunter growled. "Keep their attention away from yourself, why you're not dressed…."

Abruptly Van Helsing's head jerked and his eyes rolled upward as he slumped over Carl. The friar groaned as Van Helsing's body settled heavily over his and squeezed the air from his lungs. He couldn't' breath, couldn't see, couldn't even shout for help. Black spots began to dance before his eyes; and then suddenly the weight was being lifted off him.

Van Helsing's dark head lolled bonelessly as he was lifted off Carl by two strange men. One held the hunter beneath his arms, the other picked up his legs; awkwardly they moved back with him, settling him on the ground at the leader's feet. The man smiled with pleasure as he nudged Van Helsing's body with the toe of his boot.

"Out like a light. It appears he doesn't approve of your idea, padre; think he'll forgive you after the Inquisition's had a go at him?"

"It's for the best," Carl declared stoutly, outwardly assured while inwardly he felt like throwing up. The idea of the Inquisition ever finding out about Van Helsing, about himself…. Mentally, Carl crossed himself.

"Mmm," the leader nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "That's what all you church dogs say, isn't it? For the best? God's will? We all have to make a living, I suppose, even Mother Church. We cut throats and you slice and dice their souls…kind of puts us on an even footing, don't you think?"

Carl raised his head, his eyes narrowing, but he kept a firm rein on his tongue.

The leader shrugged. "Makes no difference to me, padre. I'm inclined to believe you—the Inquisition would no doubt pay a very pretty penny for him and I'm not particular about who foots the bill. They get their sinner, and I get my money—with the added bonus of removing my competition from the field. Everyone wins. Well, except for your friend here. So it's a deal."

Carl nodded, once, and then looked about him at the half circle of men behind him. Georgie was the worse for wear, now sporting a broken nose as well as a ruined face. Oddly enough, though, the anger and hatred in his eyes was gone. In their place was a look of black dread that struck a cord with Carl. He found himself wondering if Georgie had, at one time, been in the Inquisition's hands himself. That or perhaps someone he'd known well. True, stories about the _Domini Canes_ got around and no matter how much they were embellished, they seldom described the true horror of what the victims of that body suffered. But Georgie had the look of a man with up-close and personal knowledge. Carl made a mental note of that for possible future use.

A crunch of leaves approaching him brought his attention back to the leader in time to see the man grin at him as he stopped before Carl and reached down to haul him to his feet.

"In the meantime," the man's grin turned dark as his eyes ran over Carl's exposed body, "looks like you're dressed to play with no one to play with. Lucky thing I came along."

Gesturing two of his men to Van Helsing, the leader caught Carl's wrist in a hard grip and pulled him toward the trees.

"In deference to your religious sensibilities, I'll keep what's about to happen just between us," he promised, pursing his lips in a lewd kiss. "When we're all done, you'll feel like a new boy!"

Carl allowed himself to be pulled into the trees—if he was going to have to fight for his honor, he preferred only one adversary to six.

The leader chuckled as the shadows closed over them, turning to Carl almost before the clearing behind them was hidden from view. It was too close, the other men would hear any sounds of struggles and, while they might think it was Carl's attempts to save his virginity, it was just as likely they'd realize something was wrong.

Steeling himself, Carl looked up at the man beside through his lashes and pouted as his free hand fondled the scrap of cloth hiding his groin.

"I thought we were going to be alone?" he asked, working to make his voice sound husky and alluring. He wasn't sure what would be considered 'alluring' to a brigand, kidnapper, and would-be slaver, but it seemed to work. The man's smile elongated until it was almost ear to ear.

"I knew you holy boys were all catamites! Can't get enough of a man's touch, can you?"

"Actually, you would be my first," Carl husked, and then stifled a cough as his outraged throat protested. "You don't mind being the first, do you?"

A loud guffaw burst from the leader as he seized Carl's chin, forcing his face up. "You're a might long in the tooth to be a virgin, boy! Still, don't all whores say that? Either way, I'm gonna enjoy you!"

The grinning mouth descended and Carl slammed his eyes shut, clenching his fists so that his fingernails bit deeply into his palms as the sour mouth closed over his and a thick tongue shoved past his lips.

Strong arms encircled Carl's body, as rough hands squeezed the soft flesh of his back and then slid down to his hips, tearing away the scrap of cloth to seize his buttocks with brutal strength.

Writhing within the other man's arms, Carl gave up on his hope for more distance and freed one hand to catch the back of the other man's skull; opening his mouth wide to accept the thick tongue more deeply into his mouth, he pulled the other man's wet lips down hard onto his own. Between their bodies, he shoved his other hand down, easily locating the other man's heavy erection. He heard the leader purr with pleasure as he got a good strong grip on it.

With a pleasure as sharp and powerful as any he had ever felt before, Carl closed his fist hard about the erection, crushing it as, at the same time, he bit down on the tongue in his mouth.

He saw the other man's eyes fly open, swallowed his scream as a wash of blood filled his mouth. Shoving away from the leader, he spat the mouthful of blood and the severed tip of the other man's tongue out at him, and then swung his fist with all of his strength, feeling satisfaction as t;he leader toppled to the ground, striking his head with a sickening crunch.

Stepping back, he eyed the fallen man, waiting for any sign of consciousness; when none appeared, he closed his eyes and staggered backwards a few feet before his locked knees refused to carry him any further and dumped him on the ground. Now that he was free, he found his limbs shook with a palsy so strong he couldn't even wipe his mouth on his arm. He settled for spitting harshly into the bracken several times.

Carl had never imagined himself in such a situation before and he was stunned that he had been able to handle it with an ease worthy of Van Helsing himself. Of course, if he were going to be honest, no one in their right mind would try to take sexual advantage of Van Helsing so he could only guess at how the hunter would have handled the situation. Still, even Van Helsing would have to admit, it had gone well.

Now if he could just stop the shaking and feeling like he was going to cry like a schoolgirl...

* * *

Van Helsing opened his eyes carefully, squinting at the lowering sun's light. He'd been out for some time, apparently. His head felt as though it were going to split open; it took some doing not to groan out loud when he turned his head to look about him. 

The mercenary hunters were preparing their horses to leave; they had an odd, panicked look about them that made it plain something had gone very very wrong with their plans.

He looked about the camp but didn't see any sign of their leader or Carl and he gritted his teeth hard as his imagination readily supplied images of the brutal man alone with the friar in the woods. Behind his back, his hands and arms strained at the rope ties, and he ground his teeth together as the raw hemp tore his skin and became slick with blood without loosening even slightly.

At that point, the man that had been identified as 'Georgie' turned to look at him, noting Van Helsing was awake. He called the other men's attention to the fact before catching the reins of a horse and bringing it to the prone hunter. The animal's hoofs stopped a bare inch from Van Helsing's naked thigh and he narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the brigand that stood over him. Surprisingly, Georgie didn't appear to have noticed; he seemed far more interested in peering about at the dark woods that ringed the tiny clearing.

"What is it?" Van Helsing asked, frowning. "Where's Carl?"

Georgie shook his head. "Don't know. Don't know where Nikko is; don't know where the holy man is."

"Nikko?"

"Our leader. He took a fancy to your girly friar, took him into the woods for a little play time. That's the last we saw of either of them. We found plenty of blood, and that scrap of cloth the friar was wearing, but that's all. Nothing else!"

Georgie's green eyes dropped to Van Helsing's and blinked nervously. With his pasty face and pale bulbous eyes, he reminded Van Helsing of a small nervous rodent.

The hunter's eyes turned from the red head to scout the camp again, noting no sign of the girl. He'd forgotten about her until Georgie's words had summoned her to his mind. He wondered now if it was she that had been responsible for the blood and the two men's disappearance. Against his will, he found himself hoping so. She would protect Carl, she wanted him and would keep himself safe with her life. Despite the hope such a thought should have brought him, he found instead that it angered him. The thought of the girl believing she had a right to Carl...

Van Helsing shook his head roughly on the ground, wincing as the wound at the back of his head sent a jolt through him.

Georgie seemed to have made up his mind about something, because he abruptly leaned down, seizing Van Helsing's arm to haul him up to a sitting position, then to his feet.

"We won't wait any longer," he growled, shoving Van Helsing toward the horse. "We'll leave, make for a better campsite; he can follow if and when he's able. I'm going to untie your hands—you make a move to escape and you'll be shot. Nikko isn't here to insist that we take you alive so don't test your luck."

Van Helsing' nodded and turned his back to the other man. He winced as the rope tugged and bit at his raw skin before sliding loose. His shoulders ached with the tension they'd been under and he brought his hands about in front of him slowly. When he turned around, Georgie was there, seizing his hands and retying them before him. When he was done, he bit his lower lip as he stared at Van Helsing.

"I owe you for what you did to my face," he muttered. "You think you have a right to do that to a man without expecting consequences?"

"You attacked us," Van Helsing growled, raising one dark eyebrow. "You took the chance and you got what you deserved."

Georgie snarled, and then winced as his mutilated cheek protested the movement. His eyes rolled over to look at the other men behind them. Most had mounted, the rest were doing so.

"I don't have time to teach you a lesson here," he growled as his eyes slid back to Van Helsing's. "But you remember, the reward amount doesn't drop unless you're dead. There's a lot of pain between life and death and I'm gonna make sure that you sample some of it. Your first lesson is here now--get up on that horse or be slung over the back of mine."

Van Helsing made no reply; instead he turned to mount the waiting horse. The other mercenaries brought Georgie's horse and he mounted as well, before pulling a long length of rope from his saddlebag. Kicking his horse's sides, he urged the animal to Van Helsing's side where he thrust the rope at the hunter.

"Put this around your neck, and then give me the end."

"Put it around your own neck," Van Helsing said, and tossed the rope back to Georgie.

Behind him, Van Helsing heard the sound of a pistol being cocked and then the cold touch of metal on his neck. He dropped his lids, looking through his lashes to the side to see a tall swarthy man with nervous eyes and a cruel mouth holding a very steady gun on him.

"Put it on him," the other mercenary ordered harshly. "We don't have time for you to try to break him. It'll be dark soon and we have got to get out of these woods before then!"

Georgie scowled but he complied with the order, making sure that he cinched the noose tight about Van Helsing's neck. The hunter made certain to keep his neck tense during Georgie's ministrations; when the rope had been secured and the red head turned away, he relaxed his throat and felt the rope settle more loosely about it. Georgie didn't notice, but the man with the gun snorted.

"You got smarts, monster hunter. For certain, smarter than Georgie...maybe smarter than everyone thinks. Smart won't keep you alive, though—cooperate and you may live long enough to find a way out of this."

"In the meantime, you'll be watching to make sure I don't," Van Helsing said, making it a statement rather than a question. He received another snort and a tap of the gun's muzzle against his cheek.

"Like I said, smart. Let's go! We need to clear these woods by dark!"

They set off at a fast trot; Georgie held the end of the rope about Van Helsing's neck and often gave it a vicious yank until suddenly the swarthy man rode up and snatched it from his hand. When the red head protested, the other man grinned, showing perfect white teeth.

"He's worth more than you are—you break his neck, we lose money. We break _your_ neck—fewer ways to split the money. You think on that."

The red head's pale eyes blinked and his mouth opened and closed noiselessly as his gaze darted about at his fellows. There were far too many grim smiles that met his gaze. Without another word, he fell back, allowing the swarthy man to take his place beside Van Helsing.

"Eh, monster hunter, you don't do anything stupid, alright?" the mercenary advised and Van Helsing allowed his mouth to quirk upwards at one side.

"I'll keep that in mind. What's your name?"

"Rafael. And you are Gabriel. See, we're friends already!"

"My friends don't tie my hands and hold the end of a rope around my neck."

"_Heh heh_! You've never had a friend like me, Gabriel. I like to play rough. You've lost your little friar, maybe you're feeling lonely? I can make you feel good. May be the last good sex you'll get—after Georgie finishes with your face, not too many people will want to look twice at you."

Van Helsing made no reply; instead he raised his eyes to the sky, taking in the deepening of the blue and the first traces of red on the horizon. The night was almost upon them; despite Rafael's desire to be free of the woods by dark, they would be only half way. In fact...Van Helsing looked about him closely, noting familiar landmarks and felt a shiver of surprise. They were approaching the original site of his and Carl's werewolf trap.

Van Helsing's smile deepened as deep within himsef he heard the stirrings of his own wolf and felt the first savage expectations for the night.

Tbc


	11. Chapter 11

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: The end approaches

**Notes: OK, I lied lied lied! This isn't the last chapter—I realized that around page 11. The next chapter should finish with all the elements of this story, though. My next question will be-should this story continue or should I write a sequel? Too many questions exist about werewolves and the effect of it on VHCs relationship—plus, how will Jinette attempt to alter their relationship because it is affecting the hunter's ability to hunt?**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! _To reviewers MagRowan, Toto3(hug!); Milady Dragon, .xiXmoonofdespairXix many thanks for taking the time to review! You folks are WONDERFUL for the muse! Especial thanks to SeaDragon68, whose question from your review about what two werewolves do when they meet has made this chapter so long and promises a sequel!_

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF 11**

The forest was dark and strong within the twilight; in return for the loss of the sun's nurturing rays, darkness had bequeathed it some of the primeval sentience that still lived within the earth. Branches creaked and swayed without the benefit of wind, vast gnarled trunks added their groaning voices to the night's calls that summoned night's children into the open.

Between up thrust roots and clutching bows, shadows poured over the ground without hindrance, racing with ears back and fur spiked. There were many of them, well over a dozen. They had come to take back what was theirs. She had been away too long, having left the Pack to reclaim the One who had sired her children. It had been allowed, but the time past was far too long. It appeared she had no intention of bringing her mate and whelps back to the Pack. So they had come for her.

It hadn't taken much searching to find the original site of the circus; within the churned and scarred earth that marked its passing, they'd found the body of the One they'd selected for her. Poor, pitiful, pale creature whose staring eyes held no warmth, no memory of what he had been. It had been stripped from him, and left behind was only the husk of his human remains.

They had mourned his passing, nosing the body gently, cleaning it with their tongues and scenting it with rough passes of their heads and bodies. It was all they could do for this child of theirs that had died alone and cut apart from them.

When they were done, they left the body where it lay upon the rich dark earth. They had paid their respects, now they turned their attention to what still had to be done.

The female, she would be found. The ones who had killed the One would be found as well, and destroyed. This would not be done because of vengeance—there was nothing to be gained by that except to call unwanted attention to themselves—rather, it would be done to sever any remaining loose ends. There were too many now who had some part of this disastrous mating. They would do this thing, to protect their own.

* * *

His heart was bursting from his chest; each breath tore at his lungs with clawed fingers that made every gasp an agony. He couldn't stop, couldn't stop running for a second! He'd been foolish, so damned foolish! He'd made assumptions and it was going to cost him his life. 

Giant fingers clawed his face and seized his clothing and he screamed shrilly and beat at them with his fists until they gave way with loud cracks and breaks. Falling to the ground, he scrabbled backward as he stared up into the darkness; his breath came as a wheezing sob as he realized his 'attacker' was the branch of a tree. His face stung and his shaking fingers touched blood upon his cheek and along his forehead where the rough wood had scraped. He was possessed by a sudden urge to laugh deliriously—he'd been in the clutches of a werewolf, within its very teeth, and all he had to show for it was some scrapes he'd gotten from not watching his step in the dark?

Helplessly, his wheezing breath emerged as hoarse caws of laughter that didn't stop as he scrabbled about on the wet ground, climbing from all fours to his shaky feet. He held his sides to contain the humor and the pain as he started a staggering run again. The wet leaves turned his footfalls into solid thumps that he was certain could be heard easily; if not that, then certainly his gasping retching guffaws of hysterical laughter would be hard to miss. He should be silent, should try to tip toe, to control his breathing…

Another gust of helpless laughter clawed its way out of his gaping mouth and he fell to his knees, then again to all fours. Beneath the slimy leaves his fingers curled into thick mud.

All about him, he could hear them now—they had come for him. His heart was beating so hard he was certain it was audible to them. From the dark twisted shapes of the surrounding tree trunks, he saw shapes emerge to creep noiselessly about him, surrounding him. Whirling about on all fours, he watched more and still more emerge, their shapes huge against the pearl gray light of the moon, their features hidden in shadows. So many!

He crouched down so that his chin barely cleared the ground and his gusting breath stirred the thick leaf bed. He would meet them in this manner, to disarm them, to lull them. His mind was his best asset, certainly better than anything a pack of werewolves could aspire to. They had taken Van Helsing, the friar, his son—of course, they would take him as well into their midst. He felt exhilaration at the prospect and crouched still lower, spreading his legs and arching his back slightly, so that his chest lay on the ground and his chin was pressed into the mud. He would be subservient to them, magnificent beasts that they were, and be taken by them. From within, with his superior mind, he would find a new type of power!

The tall dark shapes gathered close about him, he could hear them breathing, growling at him, muttering.

Muttering? Werewolves didn't mutter...if these weren't werewolves, then who were they?

Their tall dark ranks parted to admit a smaller squat shape. Abruptly all was quiet as he stared up at the small figure, rising slightly from his crouch to peer at the shadow-hooded face.

The shockingly loud rasping sound of a match striking beside his ear was followed by a bright intense light that made him cower and blink painfully. Within the bright nimbus, the small figure leaned down to meet his gaze with familiar eyes.

"Eh, yer a sight for sore eyes, Charles! We've been savin' somethin' special for you!" Vermin growled as his face stretched into a hard, joyless smile.

Abruptly, the light was extinguished and the dark shapes closed in.

* * *

The Other One moved slowly through the trees upon unsteady legs. It had been hard to cast aside her human this time, very hard. She had no memory of having had so much pain before; the human had been willing, more than, for her to take over. But somehow the ties she had to her humanity had bound her, fought her. It was only full-on darkness that had at last severed them and allowed her to emerge fully. 

Her soft mouth rippled with a snarl as she caught the scent of the man she tracked; in reaction to it, her fur rose in hard ridges. She wanted to find this man, to show him what true pain was. He had hurt her human; she would return the pain doubled.

He had tied her human against a tree in an effort to contain the wolf; she remembered the fear in his eyes, the pungent stink of it on him as he watched the moon rise and witnessed her emergence. The thick vines he'd used to bind her with had parted with thick popping sounds, one after another, splattering man and wolf with sticky green sap that had a pungent scent.

He ran from her then, and she allowed it. She had needed to gather her thoughts, her strength; there was no hurry in following him because there was no place he could go that she would not find him.

Ahead of her, a V-shaped tree trunk rose like grasping fingers; she slid between them, her heavy belly hanging slightly so that she had to squeeze through. Her tongue lolled out and she whined as a powerful spasm seized her, making her stagger through the piled leaves that hid humped roots.

She shook her head and staggered again, sinking down onto the soft mulch as another spasm squeezed her belly. She closed her eyes and panted for breath—when she opened them again, the Others were there.

Her eyes slid from one face to the next, recognizing each in turn as a member of her Pack, the Pack she had thought to escape, to sever herself from.

Her sight wavered as they approached and she blinked; fat droplets of moisture spilled from between her lids to roll down her furred cheeks. She shook her head, hard, not liking the strange sensation.

The Prime One stopped before her, dropping her muzzle to nose the female. She submitted to the thorough inspection, being careful not to allow the slightest hint of displeasure to show. She had been found, she would be punished; and then they would take her back to the village, to the Pack. She had only two requests and she made them in soft chuffing whines and growls.

The Prime snarled at the female, her displeasure expressed further by a heavy cuff that knocked the female off her feet. She had broken the first law and had created others outside of the Pack's influence. At first, she was frightened that they would deny her, would use the knowledge she gave them to take what mattered most from her. The Prime's angry snarls and explosive exhalations of air caused the waiting Pack to stir and growl.

The female tried again, lowering herself to the ground as low as she could, until the cold earth chilled her throat and belly. Only then did the Prime relent, dropping her muzzle to the female's to first snarl and then lave her hot tongue over the Other One's muzzle; the female closed her eyes with a sigh.

They left two with her, to help her make the journey back to the Pack. The rest would remain to deal with what had to be done. The Other One watched them go, knowing that her part in what would happen was at an end.

* * *

_**Carl looked up at the rising moon and shivered, hugging himself hard. He could feel the wolf stirring within him; if he closed his eyes he could see it, standing magnificent before him. It shook its huge white head so that its velvet ears flattened and the blue eyes closed. When they opened again, they pierced Carl and the wolf's soft lips pulled back in a smile that exposed white serrated teeth.**_

_**Carl's mouth fell open as the wolf rose, then, to two legs, its beautiful body rising far above his own.**_

**"_Oh!" the friar breathed. "I…I had no idea…."_**

_**One velvet covered hand extended, elongated fingers beckoning.**_

**"_You're not evil are you? Not a hell spawn or…or…monster trying to take my soul?"_**

_**The wolf made a chuffing noise and beckoned again.**_

_**Carl rubbed his arms against the chill that rose off the ground and curled about the trees. He looked at the wolf's warm thick fur with longing. He was tired and he was worried. He was lost in the woods, naked and helpless, while Van Helsing was at the mercy of the other hunters. In all likelihood, they would follow his earlier advice and take Van Helsing to the Inquisition—that couldn't be allowed, but how could he stop them?**_

_**A whine escaped the wolf; the blue eyes that looked down at him were soft and liquid with an intelligence that made Carl blink in wonder. He stepped forward, still looking up into the wolf's face. **_

**"_Please..you'll find him…protect him?"_**

_**The wolf's blue eyes never wavered, the long fingers beckoned again.**_

_**With a sigh that came from his very soul, Carl opened his own arms and went to the wolf, embracing the hot body as he laid his cheek upon the smooth velvet fur.**_

In the gathering moonlight, the white wolf stretched on all fours, elongating his body as he shook himself hard, so that his ears flapped and his fur puffed out all over his body. One hand left the earth to stroke the fur over his chest, remembering the sensation of his human giving control to him. Opening his eyes to the skyward orb that spawned him, the wolf remembered the human's words.

"_Please..you'll find him…protect him?"_

Human's noises made no sense to him, but he had understood the need behind the words. Raising his muzzle to the eddying winds, he drew the heavy scent of the night into his lungs and listened to the words of darkness.

He was recently made, having only barely begun to find his own power but deep within his consciousness was knowledge that came from ancient times. It was passed from one wolf to the other at the making, so that it would never be lost. **_The Pack was everything_**.

The One opened his eyes and glided into the shadows.

* * *

Full dark finally forced the band of mercenary hunters to stop. Rafael's eyes narrowed as he took in the small leaf-strewn clearing. It looked like all the other damned clearings they'd passed through at a run; he had only the vaguest idea of where they were, reasoning that if they followed the setting sun's course they would eventually come out of the forest in the vicinity of the inn. 

Looking about, his eye caught Van Helsing's profile and was arrested by a small dark smile that tipped the ends of the hunter's lips upward.

"Eh? You know this place?"

Van Helsing shrugged, grimacing when Rafael yanked at the leash about his neck.

"You know things you don't want to tell us?" Rafael muttered and looked about them again. "Fine, you keep it to yourself. Just remember, you're with us now. What happens to us affects you too."

The Order's hunter made no reply, but his hazel gaze was dark and made the mercenary shiver in spite of himself.

With a snarl, Rafael dismounted, and then turned to Van Helsing, giving the leash another hard tug. "We're here. Get down, unless there's a reason you don't like this place?"

Holding the pommel of his saddle, Van Helsing dismounted and turned to face the other man. He kept his face expressionless, despite Rafael's searching gaze. When the mercenary realized his prisoner was not going to volunteer any information, he ground his teeth.

"Come on, I don't trust your pretty face--you get to enjoy the night tied to a tree."

The full moon's light cast a thick buttery yellow glow over the trees and leaves that was almost strong enough to read by. Rather than imparting a sense of security, however, its cool radiance served only to the make the gathered shadows richer and more alive. Rafael shied away from the edge of the forest, instead tugging his prisoner to a lone tree set almost in the center of the clearing. With a gleaming white smile, he drew his knife, turning the blade in the soft light so that it glittered.

"This is your bed for the night, my friend. Sit down, quiet; don't make me have to convince you."

With his hands tied and six armed men watching him, Van Helsing reluctantly conceded to himself that he had little chance of breaking free. With a grimace and a sigh, he placed his back to the smooth trunk of the tree and slid down until his backend hit the ground with a _thump_. Seated with his knees up and bound hands in his lap, he looked up at Rafael and raised one dark eyebrow.

Rafael snorted, grinning as he shook his head and circled the tree with the end of the leash twice before tying it tight.

"I like you, Gabriel. It's a pity that we have to sell you; it will be very dull when you are gone."

Raising his hands to his throat, Van Helsing slid a thumb between the rope and his skin, easing the rough hemp away. "Why don't we look on the bright side—maybe you won't get the chance to sell me. Maybe I'll kill you first."

Rafael chuckled as he squatted beside Van Helsing, flicking the point of his knife upward. "Your hands, Gabriel."

Van Helsing extended his hands, closing them into fists and bending them back so that Rafael could cut the rope binding them. The blade slid between his wrists and sawed at the rope until it started to part. In that instant, the muscles in Van Helsing's arms knotted as he pulled the separating strands apart with a massive yank. One arm flew back to impact Rafael's chest, throwing him back to the ground; the other hand seized the knife by the blade, yanking it out of the other man's hand.

The razor sharp edge sliced effortlessly into Van Helsing's palm but he had a good grip on it. As Rafael fell to the ground, Van Helsing reversed his hold on the blade and slid it up between his neck and the rope, sawing at the hemp. As the strands began to part, he felt the muzzle of a gun press to his temple and a foul breath poured over him in sharp panting bursts. Without hesitation, he forced the blade through the hemp and allowed it to keep going, slicing outward to be buried to the hilt in the gunman's stomach.

The gunman released one short bubbling cough and folded at the knees, dropping over Van Helsing's legs to pin them to the ground.

Growling, the hunter shoved at the dead weight on his legs as he leaned far over to retrieve the gun in the dead hand. His fingers touched the butt of the weapon when his wrist was seized and the point of a knife pricked his throat from the opposite side, slicing deep enough to cause blood to run in a hot crimson trail down his bare chest.

"I told you we should have killed him" Georgie breathed as he pressed the knife closer still; reluctantly, Van Helsing's fingers drew back from the gun and Rafael retrieved it with one hand while still holding tight to Van Helsing's wrist with the other.

"Gabriel is not like you, Georgie," Rafael growled, a savage grin lighting his face as he met the Van Helsing's eyes. "He is a warrior; he doesn't lie back and play dead."

"Play dead!" Georgie snapped, and then flicked his knife at the corpse at their feet. "Tell that to Romero! _He's_ dead and you can bet he's not playing at it!"

"He was careless," Rafael sighed, pouting with mock sadness. "You can say something sweet over him when you bury him. In the meantime...,"

Holding Van Helsing's wrist, Rafael drew it behind the tree; at his politely worded request (backed up by Georgie's knife), Van Helsing extended his free arm back so that it could be tied to his other. The ropes were pulled very tight, biting painfully into his already raw flesh and he pressed his lips together hard to keep the sound of pain that hammered at his teeth from escaping.

Georgie, watching his face avidly, scowled, disappointed to be denied their prisoner's suffering. With narrowed eyes, he watched Van Helsing's face and eyes as he brought the red-stained knife up so that it could be seen.

"Warrior or not...you can bleed. And if you bleed, you feel pain. Time for us to have that fun I promised you."

Rafael appeared at Van Helsing's shoulder, reaching out to catch the knife, holding it steady when Georgie would have yanked it away. "Dig the grave first."

A wash of ugly red flooded Georgie's ruined face. "Sod you! You dig the bloody grave; I'm not your lackey!"

"You don't dig the grave, the smell of our dead friend here will call whatever is out there to us. You want that?"

Georgie's mouth opened and closed as he looked from Rafael to Van Helsing, the dirty skin over his throat bobbing as he swallowed one reply after another. Then, with an inarticulate growl, he pulled the knife away from Rafael and rose from his crouch. Shoving the blade into his belt, he spat on the ground, and then wiped his lips on the back of a dirty hand as he glared.

"I'll dig it, but not because you tell me to."

"Fine by me. Business before pleasure, I understand."

With a sharp nod, Georgie bent and seized the ankles of his former partner, dragging the corpse from Van Helsing's legs. He either didn't notice or didn't care that the man he had bemoaned the death of earlier was now being dragged over the ground face down. Huffing and puffing with exertion, Georgie managed to manhandle the corpse some distance away before dropping the legs; wiping his forehead on his sleeve, he called the other mercenaries to help him with the grave. Van Helsing noted that no one rushed to his aid; in his ear, Rafael's snort of derision was a soft puff of air.

"That one begs to be killed," the mercenary purred. "Why could you not have stuck him instead? Georgie would have been a small loss. A very small loss."

Van Helsing's gaze slid to the smirking man at his side, taking in the good natured contempt that darkened his eyes and thinned his mouth. "I'm willing to give it another go. Give me a blade and call him back over."

"_Hah ha_! I'm tempted, my friend! Maybe before we are through, I'll do that for you. Of course, in return, I would want something."

The barrel of the gun rose to Van Helsing's cheek, stroking it softly before descending to his lips, Rafael's smirk turned into a lustful smile as he rubbed the skin-warmed metal against the hunter's full lower lip. Meeting Van Helsing's hazel eyes, he licked his lips wetly.

"I like women; I like them very much. Women with big cha cha's who can appreciate a real man. It has been a long time between women though, Gabriel. You won't hold it against me if I tell you, even a man who likes women can appreciate the beauty of another man."

The barrel at his mouth pressed harder; without speaking, Van Helsing turned his head away and let it slide over his cheek. The man at his side made a disappointed noise.

"You are a very cold man, Gabriel. I think you would not be so cold if it were your friar asking for a little company."

The touch of the gun disappeared to be replaced by hot, calloused fingers that slid through Van Helsing's hair, rubbing the strands together before moving down to harshly caress his throat, and then his chest.

"You are not a woman, my friend; but your flesh is warm and soft and I think, in a pinch, you will do very nicely."

Rafael leaned forward, his arms sliding about Van Helsing's ribs as he pressed chapped lips to the hot curved flesh of his throat sucking at it hard so that the blood rushed to the surface in a large bruise.

Van Helsing's lips peeled back in a snarl as he strained forward against the ropes, fighting them. "Get off me!"

Rafael puff of laughter left a trail of moisture behind as he slid down, pressing kisses on the skin beneath his lips till he reached the warm curved flesh of a breast; drawing it hard into his mouth, he bit down and lapped at the blood that ran from the wound. Eagerly, he pulled Van Helsing to him as he dropped his head lower and took a dark nipple into his mouth. His suckling was loud and liquid accompanied by strained grunting noises of pleasure as he pushed into and rubbed his face against the firm mound.

A snarling shout burst from Van Helsing's throat as he brought both knees up, slamming them into the back of Rafael's head, forcing it up so that the mercenary's mouth was torn from his nipple, leaving it bloody. He dropped his head, opening his mouth as Rafael's head was pushed up and closed his jaws on the mercenary's throat.

Rafael's garbled scream of agony was drowned out by multiple howls that came from the darkness that pressed about them on all sides.

The camp erupted into panic as the mercenaries sprang to their feet; drawing their weapons, they spun about searching for targets in the twisting shadows.

Van Helsing released Rafael, using his legs to thrust the mercenary from him. He flew several feet before fetching up hard against a tree. Without a sound, Rafael slid down the trunk to lie upon the ground; his throat was awash with blood that ran down in black streams to soak his dirty shirt and the front of his pants.

As Van Helsing watched the unconscious man, he saw a clawed hand emerge from the darkness to seize the man's shoulder. Without a sound, Rafael's body was pulled from sight into the darkness. Van Helsing leaned against his bonds, peering into the darkness as he drew the night air hard into his lungs.

The cool air shivered over his tongue and he closed his eyes as he drank it down like water. He could smell them, in the darkness. Werewolves. He frowned as he noted the scent differed from the female's. There was no obvious odor of evil, no stain of corruption or hatred—these monsters were acting together with a single rational intent—to kill every man within the clearing.

His opened his eyes as he lunged forward, twisting his arms against the ropes; as the rough strands abraded his skin his arms became slick with blood that made the ropes slide more easily.

The men in the clearing were firing rapidly into the darkness, not waiting to see their targets they wasted their ammunition on fleeting shadows. When the inevitable happened—the first empty click—the howling stopped.

The four men backed toward one another, staring into the darkness, their mouths slack with fear.

From the darkness, expelled like smoke ghosting over the ground, the werewolves came from all sides to rise up over the men, seizing them in clawed fingers. Van Helsing watched Georgie's eyes grow large as they rose up to the wolf's; gabbled sounds emerged from his mouth that rapidly became a single wailing cry as the wolf lowered its jaws to take his head between them. The cry ended with a horrible wet crunch.

Van Helsing watched the wolves tear the men to pieces, cracking their necks and backs like rabbits. When they began to feed, he tore his eyes away. The ropes about his wrists had been forced to his knuckles and with a final heave he freed one hand. Immediately, he brought them both to the front, tearing the remaining ties from his other arm. The wolves paid no attention to him as he slid, still seated to one side of the tree. He planned to move behind and then beyond it and pushed his heels into the raw earth preparatory to sliding beyond the tree when he felt a cold smooth surface under the arch of his right foot. His eyes dropped to the object and widened as he recognized the dark cylindrical shape of the dart.

All plans for escape fled as he half rose and reached for it, breathing hard as he felt the solid casing slip into his palm. As his fingers curled hard around it, he expelled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

A large furred foot appeared beside his hand.

He looked at it, noting the elegant lines of the bones and tendons clearly visible, terminating in soft furred toes with long dark claws. With a sigh of resignation, he allowed his eyes to move from the foot upward, taking in the pale, almost colorless fur thickly covering a muscular thigh, leading to a smooth torso and wide shoulders. He rose from his crouch to stand before the werewolf as his eyes continued up to the face.

The first thing that struck him was the odd lightgold color of her eyes and the stunning intelligence within them. He saw her gaze narrow and her furred lip pull back in a snarl. When she reached for him, he didn't move beyond tightening his hand on the dart. He had no expectations of living past this meeting, but he hoped that if Carl found his body reasonably intact he would find the dart and the antidote as well.

Her long fingers touched and then closed on his shoulder, shoving him back against the tree; a pained grunt escaped him as the impact split open the stitches on his back.

Her eyes widened slightly and her long red tongue emerged to delicately lick her lips. He met her eyes directly.

"If you're going to kill me, get it over with."

Her ears cocked toward him at the sound of his voice and a huff of expelled air made his hair flutter. She leaned forward, and he watched as her moist nose wrinkled, nostrils dilating to take his scent in deeply. The gold eyes, on level with his own, showed him tiny dual images of his own reflection; her breath upon his skin alternately warmed and chilled him. Long fingers with thick leathery pads slid from his shoulders downward, onto his chest, hesitating at the bruises and teeth marks left by Rafael. He heard her growl harshly and felt an unaccountable flush redden his skin.

Her growl tapered off as her hands moved lower, to his hips. She cocked her head to the side as she touched and fingered the remains of his trousers, and then with a _chuff_ of air tore them away.

The flush on his skin grew hotter as her fingers slid lower to touch him intimately and he closed his eyes.

Something was stopping her from killing him outright; he suspected it was the scent of another werewolf that lingered on his skin. The question foremost in his mind was what happened when two werewolves met? Did they fight? Or did they naturally pack? Technically, his wolf had been made by Dracula and then resurrected by the female. Was she part of this pack? Would this female accept him or reject him as an outsider? Or, since the antidote was fresh in his blood, did he even qualify as a wolf any longer?

Her fingers curled about his genitals, long claws lightly scratched his inner thigh and he gasped, involuntarily catching hold of her shoulders, as she bent low to rub her cheek over his abdomen. The strength of her rubbing forced him back hard against the smooth bole of the tree and robbed him of breath. A detached portion of his brain still capable of rational thought realized she was marking him, as Carl had done.

"Does this mean we're going steady?" he gasped, slumping back against the tree as her fingers released him and she straightened. His eyes opened to find her face only inches from hers and he saw the question in her golden eyes.

"Oh no…not again," he breathed, and then cried out as her jaws opened and closed on his shoulder. His eyes slammed shut and his fingers bit into her furred shoulders as he felt her teeth sink into his flesh. His cry of pain was almost a sob, he felt his knees give way and then felt her catch his ribs to hold him up. When her jaws opened, he gasped and felt hot liquid pour from both his shoulder and his eyes. He opened his eyes and through the tear haze watched her extend her tongue to delicately lave his shoulder, her tongue probing the wound agonizingly.

"Get off me, damnit!" he snarled, shoving back hard against her shoulders, against her long fingers still about his ribs.

She raised her head then and he growled at the look of satisfaction in her eyes.

Neither of he nor the werewolf were prepared for the muscular fury that cannoned into them, knocking both to the ground. Van Helsing flew through the air to slam hard into another tree before sliding down the rough trunk to the ground. He groaned as he lifted his head and felt things move and shift that didn't normally.

Across from him, he saw the female on the ground and over her stood the magnificent white wolf.

It appeared Carl had found him.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel, the beginnings of a slash relationship

Series/Sequel: Brother Wolf, Sister Wolf, The Pack is Everything

**Notes: Thank you for letting me know that you wanted a sequel! This story will continue in two parts—the werewolf village in _Sister Wolf_ followed by _The Pack is Everything_ in which Van Helsing and Carl return home to Rome and the Order. **

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**: Thank you so much for reading my story. Any suggestions, criticisms and encouragement you offer will be accepted with much appreciation! _To reviewers **Tim** for his idea concerning Charles; **Toto3** for feeding the muse with her wonderful ideas!; **MagRowan** for her excellent question about the Cardinal; **Mannariel** for reminding me of the joy a few well-chosen words can bring!; **Chibi-Kaz** for mentioning immunity and for being a friend!; **Runts Gal** for suggesting the plot of The Pack is Everything and for sticking with me through all the stories; **GlasTriskellion** for finding plot holes and letting me know Charles needed an epilogue—this one's for you!; **TrinitytheSheDevil** for sticking with me and 'The Little Hunter'—snort!; **xiXmoonofdespairXix** for constantly egging me on (hug!); **Seadragon68** for always being there, for being a wonderful writer and reinforcing the need to keep centered on the pack; **MiladyDragon** for sticking to the end; and **JustinetheBean** for her beautiful inspiring art. Additional thanks to **Scap, DianaRulz, Miyuki, Peekaboo42, Demus, N, Billyez, Miko2660, Steph,** and **Kawaiikitsune90**—your taking the time to review and give me your thoughts kept me going! I hope you enjoy this final chapter!_

Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word

* * *

**BROTHER WOLF-Finale **

Silent as ghosts, the pack moved over the red-soaked earth in two directions, fanning out to form a loose, constantly moving half-circle. The pack's blazing eyes remained intent upon the two combatants, their long muzzles were held low to the ground as they edged close to scent the newcomer then retreated, jaws parted as they panted with snarling lips and flickering tongues that tasted the scent of blood and dominance

When their circling course drew close to Van Helsing, they snarled and snapped at him, but offered him no harm. It was evident they were telling him not to interfere in any way.

The white wolf stood on two legs over the female, his massive back humped and spiked with dense ridges of fur. His lips were pulled back fully, exposing long white canines, serrated molars and black gums. Leaning over the female, he snapped his jaws at her, as if warning her to stay down.

The female's gold eyes rolled upward to the male over her, her own mouth gaping in a warning as her ears flattened to her skull. In a single convulsive movement, she lunged for the white wolf; catching him about the waist, her claws sank into his sides and raked downward.

The male howled and struck the female twice, once on each side of her head; when she staggered, he seized massive handfuls of the fur on her shoulders, dragging her away from his body. With a heave that made tendons and muscles stand out in sharp relief, he threw the female from him.

She landed several paces away, rolling twice before she scrambled to her feet, snarling as she slipped awkwardly in the leaves that marked the edge of the original trap. Her gold eyes blazed as they fixed on the white wolf and she moved sideways, perpendicular to the trap and him. He turned, keeping his eyes on her, answering her snarls and growls with the same. When she rushed him, rising to two feet, he was ready. They came together with bared clashing teeth, their long claws slashing at one another.

Van Helsing watched the battle anxiously; unable to help he railed at his own impotence. The other werewolves made no move to either help or hinder the battle, but they watched every movement with a keen intelligence that made Van Helsing's own eyes narrow.

Pulling his feet under him, he rose to sit, then to one knee. Immediately, the closest werewolf whirled on him. He froze as the monster thrust snarling jaws forward, mere inches from his face. He could feel his own wolf howling within his mind; he saw his reflection in the glowing eyes of the werewolf facing him and he saw the black wolf waiting behind him, waiting to be allowed out.

A yelp from the combatants brought the attention of both man and wolf back to the clearing. The female and the white wolf were separated, each had pelts liberally stained with blood but neither was looking at the other. Instead, they looked up at the sky and the streaks of red that now tainted the pristine darkness. Like her children, night's sky bled as the sun asserted its dominance and rose from the horizon.

Van Helsing's gaze dropped to the wolf facing him; he was surprised to see the glow had faded from the brown eyes and the snarling teeth were again hidden. He was more surprised when the wolf turned away without another look and loped into the grey woods beyond. All about the clearing, the werewolves were leaving without a backward glance. He shivered when he realized that over a dozen wolves had been in the clearing and their exodus made no sound.

Only the female and the white wolf were left, each still on two feet facing one another. Neither wolf was making any aggressive moves; in fact, the female seemed to be looking at the white male with a good deal of interest. Van Helsing raised a dark brow as he saw the wolf that would very shortly become his friend again, doing the same. When the female moved, it was away from the male, to the tree that Van Helsing had been tied to. Her eyes darted to the hunter, then, and she licked her lips as a little whine escaped her. One hand moved to the tree and with a quick slashing stroke, she clawed a deep horizontal 'V" in the trunk. Then, without another sound, she dropped to all fours and disappeared into the forest.

Van Helsing rose to his feet, grimacing as he looked down at his naked blood-splattered body. Gingerly, he walked across the clearing to approach the werewolf, watchful for any signs of warning or returned ferocity.

The wolf watched him approach, the blue eyes blinking at him held none of the internal fires marking the beast nor did the long teeth within the velvet mouth make a reappearance. The hunter winced as he approached close enough to see the bleeding wounds within the wolf's pelt. He reached out, slowly, to touch the ruffled cool fur; drawing assurance as the wolf allowed it, he drew closer and began to inspect the injuries in earnest.

"You're a mess," was his final considered opinion. "When you turn back into my 'cowardly' friar, I expect he's going to blame me for this. You know, challenging a pack of werewolves isn't the way to live a long pain-free life."

The white wolf's jaws parted in a squeaking whine and the blue eyes squeezed shut before reopening. Dropping his head, he sniffed at the hunter and _chiffed_ a sneeze.

"Mmm," the hunter growled as he craned his neck awkwardly to look at the wound in his shoulder. "I'm getting very tired of being bitten, licked, sucked, and generally beaten up. The only good thing to come of this night is my having found this…."

Van Helsing opened his tightly clenched hand to display the black dart. He smiled at it, rolling the cylinder between his fingers as if feeling the cold sleek metal would make the object more real. The luck of finding it still had a dreamlike quality that made him wary of awakening to find it all a fantasy.

"I don't know if the original antidote can withstand another bite," he growled, looking up into the wolf's eyes. "But it's better to have Carl back to normal so he can treat me, than vice versa. I hope. If I am reinfected, let's hope my wolf is as civilized as Carl's."

A long furred finger extended to touch the dart, the claw tipping it made a slight squealing as it was drawn over the casing. Both man and wolf shivered with the sound.

It was plain that Carl's werewolf was also tired of the forces that opposed them. He drew away from Van Helsing to walk unsteadily to the tree with the notched 'V' in it and without hesitation, proceeded to pee on it.

Van Helsing's eyebrows rose as he watched the wolf's eyes close with an almost human pleasure; hastily he stifled any sound he might have made behind a clenched fist pushed tight against his lips.

When the wolf was done, he turned back to the man with a purposeful expression.

"Oh no…please…," Van Helsing half groaned as he backed away. "No licking my wounds, no biting…."

When the wolf moved, it was a smoky blur; Van Helsing was aware of the sensation of the world whirling about and then he groaned as his back touched the ground and the wolf settled over him. The first tough of the wet hot tongue on his skin surprised him. Rather than licking the wound the female had inflicted, the white wolf concentrated on those left by Raphael. Judging by the growling sounds, he was taking each bite and bruise personally. The bath was thorough, embarrassingly so, culminating with the wolf gently rubbing his head over Van Helsing's body.

"Why not just piss on me, like you did the tree?" the hunter growled. His olive skin abruptly flooding with a deep red color as the head dropped lower and a cold wet nose touched his genitals. "Stop that!"

The blue eyes rose to the man's as the wolf's lips rippled in mute warning. When the warm tongue emerged to slide over his groin, Van Helsing's eyes slammed shut. In his mind, he could see the sun rising and the white wolf, still busy between his legs, morphing back into Carl. To the wolf, this type of grooming was perfectly natural—to the friar…. Van Helsing wasn't sure how the friar would kill him, but he suspected, at the very least, a ritual sacrifice of some sort was in his future—probably complete with Latin and incense.

When the wolf raised his head, his tongue flickering one last time over Van Helsing's stomach, the hunter groaned with relief. He remembered Carl telling him that such grooming was natural among canines, that it was expected for werewolves to feel the same compulsion. He remembered joking with the friar about it, discounting the idea with the ease of the woefully, horrendously ill-informed.

The wolf rose to his feet then, an oddly human gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that made the man wince. In his years of being a hunter, he had never met a more stubborn breed of monster than the werewolf. Ruefully, he made a silent vow to ask Carl about it and to listen more closely this time.

Van Helsing's attention had drifted inward and he roused himself to a liquid slurping sound. Dreading what he might see, he turned slowly and winced at the sight of the werewolf among the bodies of the slain mercenaries, lapping the spilled blood up with every evidence of enjoyment. From the wolf, his eyes rose to the sky and he mentally began a countdown. The wolf's tongue was darting in and out quickly, as if he were determined to get some sort of sustenance before the friar returned. As Van Helsing's countdown reached three, the wolf abruptly straightened and shuddered hard. He staggered from the carnage to sink to his knees. Panting, the wolf raised his head to the sky in a long mournful howl. As the echoes died away, the wolf's form seemed to collapse leaving the pale naked form of the friar lying on the torn ground.

Van Helsing rose to his feet; moving to the unconscious friar, he checked on his color and breathing, wincing at the wounds along Carl's back. Touching his friend's cold skin brought a though to his mind. A brief foray past the edge of the glen yielded, as expected, the remains of the mercenaries' horses lying in pools of blood. With a grimace, he managed to extract the saddlebags from the carnage. Moving to one side, he dumped their contents and breathed a sigh of relief to find spare clothing, canteens, and some very old, very tough jerky.

Carl was sitting up when he returned to the clearing; the friar was shivering convulsively, his eyes fixed on the bodies lying on the ground not ten feet from him. Carl's eyes rose to Van Helsing's with a mixture of relief and dread.

"Please tell me I didn't do that…" he pleaded, pointing in the general direction of the carnage.

"You didn't do that," Van Helsing repeated dutifully, but his fast hard smile served to reassure the friar who nodded jerkily.

"I feel awful," Carl said in the type of matter of fact tone one would use to comment on the weather. "I appear to have gotten into a fight…and I have a terrible taste in my mouth…. Did I loose some teeth?"

"Something like that," Van Helsing muttered, feeling his skin begin to heat with a flush. Sternly ordering the crimson tide back down, he turned his mind to other things; kneeling beside Carl, he opened the canteen and handed it to the friar. "Drink as much as you can," he advised, smiling as Carl took the container and began to greedily gulp its contents. Leaving Carl to his thirst, the hunter turned to the purloined clothing, shaking them out and eyeing them critically. The mercenaries weren't fashion plates and they apparently weren't overly concerned with hygiene either, but the articles were dry and warm and that's all he wanted.

Carl coughed, slopping water onto his chest as Van Helsing seized one of his legs, lifting it to slide on a pair of trousers. When he saw what was happening, he nodded, and then returned to guzzling water. The pants were slid up to Carl's hips and, with a little help from the distracted friar, at last buttoned.

With the friar partially clothed, Van Helsing turned to cleaning his wounds. Selecting the cleanest shirt from the lot, he tore it into strips and wetted them down with water from the second canteen. He noted the friar's gulping draughts were slowing down; with the corners of his mouth twitching, he presented the friar with the paper parcel of jerky. His small smile bloomed into a grin as the friar uttered a heartfelt moan of pleasure and proceeded to tear into the dried meat, masticating the leather-tough morsels with an almost pornographic enjoyment.

For himself, Van Helsing was just glad that he'd managed to distract Carl so easily. The friar had to be in a great deal of pain but it seemed his ability to feel it had been thrust to the background in favor of fueling his body. Considering all the friar had been through, it was certainly understandable.

With care, he began to clean Carl's wounds. Surprisingly, while many, they weren't life threatening. For some reason, the female had apparently sought to chastise the presumptive male rather than to kill him. He wondered if her wounds were as light.

When he had cleaned the cuts and claw marks as well as he could, he wound strips of cloth about them, tucking the ends in. After that he urged Carl to relinquish one arm in order to slide it into a shirt sleeve.

The friar finally looked up at Van Helsing, his jaws never ceasing to their vigorous mastication, as the hunter eased his other arm in. His blond brows contracted in a puzzled frown as he gestured with one hand that still held a shard of meat.

"You're naked."

"You're very observant."

"_Why_ are you naked?"

With a side-long grimace and a raised eyebrow at his friend's mild curiosity, Van Helsing growled, "We met up with the rest of the pack. Their leader decided I looked like a likely candidate and after tearing off the last of my clothes, she bit me. That's how you got your wounds; I think you were trying to protect me."

The blue eyes blinked for several seconds as Carl considered what the hunter had said. When he spoke, it was in a thoughtful tone. "I think someone needs to explain the concept of 'spun glass' and 'constructive cowardice' to my wolf."

"I'll keep that in mind. To tell you the truth, we haven't progressed much past his growling at me and my doing whatever he wants."

"I can see why," Carl murmured as he eyed the hunter's mangled shoulder. "That looks quite painful. The leader of the pack did it?"

Van Helsing nodded as he settled down on the ground beside Carl and began to sort through the clothing for himself. "She insisted on it."

Carl sighed and wiped his face on one arm, his nose twitching at the smell wafting from the shirt. "I suppose we'll need to be concerned with the possibility of reinfection from this new bite," he said. "It's actually fascinating how the pack works to keep those within its confines from leaving. Of course, it also means that simply giving a werewolf the antidote doesn't necessarily mean he or she will remain cured. If werewolves can tell the poor soul was once one of them, apparently they go to any lengths to return him to the fold. And, if a new pack discovers the individual—do they treat him as a human, an interloper, or a stray to be rounded up into their own ranks?"

Listening with only half an ear, Van Helsing stood up to draw on a pair of trousers. As he pulled them up to his hips he noted Carl's rather rapt attention centered between his legs. Remembering the wolf and his recent tongue bath, the hunter abruptly turned his back on the friar as he finished buttoning up.

When he turned back he noted the friar's thoughtful frown had returned, but he continued on his original topic without comment. "By now, you've been reinfected so often, it would be almost impossible to determine who actually sired you. I never considered making the antidote as some sort of inoculation, so I'm not sure how this latest attack with take you. If it's true that the werewolves that are created outside of Dracula's influence are gentler, less instinct-driven and more intelligent, then it's a 50-50 chance which type you'll be. And then, of course, there's the question of how the two wolves will react to one another. This will be the first instance of two unattached males meeting that we've encountered."

It wasn't pain that made Van Helsing wince as he shrugged into his shirt. With a sigh, he met the friar's eyes. "About that…."

"'About that'? Van Helsing…why are you heming and hawing like that?"

"Things have changed, Carl. I found something that changes everything."

Gingerly, the hunter settled on the ground, cross legged, across from his friend. He extended his hand to the other man, opening it.

"Oh my!" Carl breathed, his blue eyes becoming large and round as he took in the familiar dark casing and the red liquid within it. "But how?"

"This is the site of our original trap. Evidently, you must have dropped the dart when Devon attacked you."

Carl's eyes flew up to take in the clearing; he bit his lip as he recognized the unmistakable landmarks. When his gaze returned to the hunters, he said simply, "Now what?"

The hunter shrugged with a smile. "Simple. We walk to the inn. I found some money in the saddle bags—probably Charles' bounty money. We'll give you the injection and you'll lock yourself into a room until daylight."

"Me!" Carl gaped at the hunter. "But…but surely it would make more sense… We know my wolf can be controlled…."

"Controlled? Carl, I hate to break it to you, but your wolf does exactly as he pleases and I try to stay out of his way. You're not thinking clearly…."

Carl's _snuff_ of indignation made the hunter raise one eyebrow as he held up a silencing finger.

"Hear me out, Carl. We're in the woods; we've got a long walk ahead of us. Between us and the inn is a pack of werewolves, possibly more than one, who are hell bent on either killing or enlisting us. I've already been given the antidote, it's possible that's enough. You, on the other hand, have no protection and you've already been in a fight with the leader of one of the packs. Add to that the fact that you know how to make the antidote—if you're killed fighting the other wolves or if repeated morphing into the wolf robs you of your memory, we're both in trouble."

Carl opened his mouth only to be hushed by the hunter again. "Besides," Van Helsing said grimly, "I've seen how intelligent your wolf is. I doubt locked doors and second story windows will keep him out."

Carl sat silent, blinking; Van Helsing frowned, learning forward to peer into the blue eyes.

"Carl? Are you alright?"

"Can I speak now?"

Van Helsing's eyes rolled closed as he exhaled a sigh. "Yes, Carl, please do."

"I agree."

That brought the hunter's eyes open in time to see Carl rise to his feet. A small packet fell with a crisp rustle into Van Helsing's lap; when he retrieved it, he realized it was the rest of the jerky.

"You'd better eat that," the friar advised him as he leaned down to catch at the hunter's elbow. "We've got a long way to go, so you'll have to eat on the road. Here…here's the water, drink as much as you can."

Van Helsing allowed Carl to pull him to his feet and accepted the friar's canteen in return for the dart. With a grim air, the friar pocketed the dart and set off across the clearing. As they neared the notched tree, Carl paused, eyeing the mark that rose well over either of their heads.

"I don't recall that being here before…."

"It wasn't, the female left it."

"Really?" Eagerly, Carl stepped up to the tree to stare at the symbol for several seconds before his nose began to twitch. "What is that smell?"

"Ah, never mind," Van Helsing grabbed the friar's elbow, pulling him along as they entered the forest. "That symbol mean anything to you?"

"Well, I can't help but notice that it's lying on its side, like an arrow, and apparently pointing toward the inn."

The hunter's steps faltered slightly, and Carl looked back with a mischievous grin. "Of course," he murmured sententiously, "it's _possible_ I'm not thinking clearly…."

Van Helsing watched as the friar faced frontward again and set out with a particularly jaunty air. He found himself wondering if now would be a good time to tell Carl about his peeing on the 'arrow'."

* * *

Their journey through the woods, while uneventful, was long and tiring. By the time they reached the inn, the sky was darkening into twilight. The man behind the desk looked over their rough clothing and bare feet with a sniff, but he accepted the money readily enough. For a few coins more, he parted with a small bottle of what he faithfully promised was fine whiskey and which Van Helsing had very little doubt was in actuality the worst type of rotgut. Van Helsing had insisted upon an interior room so the two men soon found themselves back in the room that Carl had previously had their first night in the area. 

Faced now with imminent darkness, the friar retrieved the dart from his clothing.

"You'd better sit down," the hunter advised him, catching his friend's elbow to tug him to the bed. "It hits you hard."

"Oh…alright." Swallowing nervously, Carl allowed himself to be pulled down to the lumpy mattress. Once settled, he surrendered the dart to Van Helsing, who took it to the washbasin; washing the casing thoroughly, the hunter pried open the whiskey, wincing as the fumes made his eyes water, and poured the pale liquor over the needle.

Satisfied that he had cleaned the dart as well as possible, he turned back to the bed. Carl had lit a small lantern and settled it on the bedside table. In its flickering light, Van Helsing saw the friar's pulse jump in his throat as his blue eyes settled on the long needle.

"Do you want me to do it?" Van Helsing asked quietly.

"Nono, not necessary. It's just a needle, I doubt I'll even feel it," Carl smiled gamely and held out his hand. When the weight of the dart settled in his palm, he swallowed several times in succession before the unconvincing smile returned to his pasty face. "Well, I suppose we should get this over with."

Settling himself on the bed behind the friar, Van Helsing caught Carl's hand, guiding it and the dart to the friar's thigh. He waited until Carl was taking a deep breath, and then forced the friar's hand down, burying the needle deep into his leg.

Carl's howl of surprised pain was abruptly cut short as his body seized in a back breaking spasm. Van Helsing immediately drew the blond man into his arms, holding him grimly as his friend's body jerked and spasmed and thick red foam gathered at the corners of Carl's mouth. The convulsions seemed to go on forever and Van Helsing spent every second of it mentally flaying himself for having maneuvered the friar into coming on the mission. When at last Carl's body eased and lay heavy against him, he exhaled a breath that he seemed to have been holding for the past two days.

* * *

Carl opened his eyes slowly, groaning as the thin light of the lantern stabbed at them. He was tucked into the bed for which he was profoundly grateful; judging by the weakness that seemed to drag at his body like an anchor, he doubted he would have had the strength. 

A rattle off to one side made him wince as it speared into his cringing brain; his eyes slid over reluctantly. He was fully prepared to see a horde of werewolves waiting with bated breath for any sign of life so they could rip his throat out and he was finding it hard to work up the energy to even care.

What he was not prepared for was the sight of Van Helsing washing his 'borrowed' clothing in the basin.

"Van Helsing?" Carl squeaked, blinking rapidly, as if to dispel the phantasm of his friend. The hunter, however, remained reassuringly visible and solid.

"I'm glad to see you awake," Van Helsing smiled down at the recumbent friar. Carl's skin was still as pale as a ghost, but the feverish light that had been in his eyes had faded at last.

"You're _here_? But, what about the plan?"

"The plan…" With a grin, the hunter dropped the wet clothing over a chair back and went to sit on the edge of Carl's bed. "Night came, the moon rose, no wolf. That antidote of yours is apparently also a vaccine. Congratulations!"

"A vaccine?" Carl's mouth abruptly quirked at the corners as color bloomed in his cheeks. "Wait until Jinette hears about this!" the friar beamed.

"Ah, well, about that…. Have you considered how we would tell him? I'm not keen on admitting that either of us was infected."

"Oh…" Van Helsing could see the internal war between inventor and reluctant former werewolf within Carl's eyes. Then, "The arrow! The other werewolves!"

"There's nothing, Carl," the hunter assured his friend, patting his arm. "No sign of them."

"Ah. Well, I suppose it's possible that the arrow is meant to point _beyond_ the inn…?" Carl looked up at the hunter, frowning when he saw the grim expression in his friend's eyes. "Van Helsing?"

"I think you're probably right. Carl, I plan to find the village where Devon was infected. I want you to go back to Rome, though. There's no need for you to be involved."

"Back to Rome?" The friar's words were a mere exhalation of longing; then he shook himself, his brows drawing down resolutely. "Don't be silly! You'll need my help! How would you get along without me?"

"Carl…."

"It's decided!" the friar said firmly. Then, after a moment, "Though, I hope before we go, we can get some decent clothing, some horses, and a good meal?"

The hopefulness in the friar's gaze brought a smile to Van Helsing's mouth which widened as Carl beamed up at him.

* * *

_**EPILOGUE:**_

The date the barn had been erected was long since forgotten; its shell gave the illusion of strength and dependability while within its bones a rot had set in that made a mockery of appearances. No one came here any longer; no one remembered it at all.

Vermin smiled grimly up at the dark weathered eaves that were festooned with misty cobwebs and abandoned birds' nests. This building, surrounded on all sides by the thick forest, was perfect for his purposes.

Behind him, he heard the scuffle of his friends dealing with their reluctant guest. It was necessary that they strip Charles of his clothing and he was taking it rather hard.

"Get off me! Damn you!"

"Tch tch, mate," Vermin remonstrated as he entered the barn to see Charles fighting to keep his clothing. All around him were the grim faces of the circus performers--in none of them did the former owner see even the smallest hint of unease or forgiveness.

Vermin appeared to Charles' gaze; upon the dwarf's face was a broad grin whose apparent jollity did not reach the brown eyes.

"Yer just makin' this 'arder," the dwarf assured him in a kindly manner. "Like I told you, I've been savin' somethin' special for you. But you can't 'ave it if yer not good. Now, we can do this easy, or 'ard. It's up to you."

Charles whirled about, his gaze lighting on one face, then another. From his pale face, sweat dripped down to splatter on the dirty wooden floor.

"You're going to kill me…aren't you?" he asked as his gaze came back to Vermin.

The dwarf's smile widened. "Nah, mate. Wot would give you such an idea? We're not murderers 'ere…well, some of us aren't. Can't say the same for you, can we?"

"I…I didn't mean to kill him!"

"Knife just slipped, eh? The knife you were carryin' around in the dark for no reason, right mate? Funny about that…'ow it just 'slipped' all the way around 'is bloomin' thoat. Tough break, that."

Charles shuddered and closed his eyes against the sight of the faces pressed about him. He felt their hands now, pulling at his clothing, and he shuddered again as he allowed them to take them from him.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked when he stood naked before them.

"Yer gonna be part of a 'istory makin' moment, mate!" Vermin assured him with grim gravity, all traces of amusement gone. From his belt, the dwarf extracted a water skin, his thick thumb flicked the cap open. "I've been workin' on this fer a long long time. Always meant to test it on a real live subject before..now seems to be the perfect time."

"I..what will it do to me?"

"Don't know…that's 'alf the fun, ain't it, mate!" Vermin snarled. On cue, the circus folk moved forward, their hands seized the man who had controlled their lives for years. Charles' struggles were useless, but his captors took a great deal of satisfaction from them. Forcing him down on his knees, they pushed his head down until it was almost on the floor.

"That's it," Vermin breathed as he moved to squat down before Charles' head, Clarie handed him the battered metal plate that served as Vermin's burner; it would now take on a new purpose as he placed it before Charles' face and poured the black liquid from the skin into it. Charles started back, but was pushed irresistibly forward again until his lips were above the reflective pool. "Lap it up," the dwarf growled. "Do it, or we'll drown you in it."

Charles' breath came in sobbing pants as he opened his mouth and began to lap at the dark liquid. The first touch upon his tongue made him shudder violently, but he continued to lap at it.

All around him, the grim eyes of the performers watched, not wanting to miss an instant. Vermin remained crouched beside the plate, urging Charles on each time he pulled back. The man's body was now undergoing a continual shaking that wracked him so hard he could barely stay upright. As he licked up the last smear of liquid, a black trail ran down his chin in a treacley ribbon to drip back into the pan. Vermin rose then; moving back, he nodded to the other performers to move as well. They released the man, drawing away for several paces, their gaze remaining avid upon Charles.

The circus owner shuddered, so hard a hoarse snorting grunt was forced from him. He lost track of the ground, of his own body; spreading his legs, he clung to the dirty floor with broken nails as his body was again seized with tremors. From his lips, sounds emerged that were part human, part animal grunting.

Charles abruptly toppled to his side and began to kick at the dirt, his jaws snapped at his own fingers, gnawing at them. When another wave of convulsions hit him, his body arched backwards and the assembled performers gasped, crossing themselves as they moved away.

Charles' bloody fingers were fused, his fingernails becoming hard hornlike material. From his naked body hair sprouted. His eyes flew open to stare unseeing at the assembled crowd and they no longer resembled anything human. Charles' fused fingers pawed and clubbed over his own face, splitting his lip, bloodying his nose. Vermin's eyes narrowed and he nodded as he saw the bloody nose spread and elongate into a snout. Moving forward, Vermin launched a hard kick at the exposed naked buttocks and smiled with vindication as Charles responded with a scream that emerged as a hoarse squeal.

"Time for you to go out an' make some new friends," the dwarf growled. "Go on! Get!"

Another hard boot knocked Charles forward, and suddenly he was on all fours, scrabbling awkwardly out of the barn. His pig-like squealing was continual as he disappeared into the trees.

Vermin walked out of the barn to stand at the edge of the woods. The other performers followed; when Clarie attempted to speak with him, Vermin raised one finger. "Wait for it!" he muttered.

In the stillness, they heard the squeals moving through the forest. Then they heard the howls. From all directions, the howling of wolves, all of them moving toward one location.

Vermin waited, held his breath, thought of Peter….

And smiled when he heard the squeals turn into screams.

* * *

In the midst of the close, dark trees a stretch of leaf-covered ground trembled then subsided. An instant later, it happened again, this time the upheaval was violent, forcing upwards until it erupted from the black soil like the waking dead. 

Naked, mud and blood smeared arms thrust outward, clawing at the air, then at the cloth covering his head. Tearing it from his face, Nicco screamed his anger and hatred into the darkness.

"_Van Helsing_!"

* * *

At the inn, in the small enclosed room, two men looked up unaccountably, both turning toward the unseen forest. 

In the dim light of the guttering lamp, their eyes glowed with a golden sheen.

_Continued in 'Sister Wolf'_


End file.
